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Part 1
1
"Dad, my hand hurts."
"What did you do now? Show me."
Adam shuffled his feet across the worn carpet to where his father lay on the sofa. The flickering of the television threw shadows about the room while it's inane chattering drowned out his fathers heavy breathing. Adam took care not to stand between the television and his father. Father didn't like that.
"I can't see. Turn the light on," he said, squinting at his son's hand. Click. The bright light killed the dancing shadows. Adam didn't like shadows.
"What's this then? Oil?"
"No father, it wont come off."
It looked like dirt or oil to Harold. His son was always getting dirt of some description on him. More times than not it was something that took more than a weak boys scrubbing to remove.
"It's just oil or something. Where were you playing? Wasn't with that Brownes kid again? I warned you about that little bastard." Harold was always quick to accuse the Brownes boy of being responsible for any of Adams troubles.
"No dad I wasn't! I was playing out back alone with my cars and Sparky was jumping on our fence…then he stopped, stopped moving." Sparky was next doors little Yorkshire terrier and Harold hated the noisy mutt. I'll skin that bloody thing one of these days!
"I think Sparky is dead. Just died on the fence and when I…"
"Ha! That little noisy piece of crap died?" And with that he pushed himself off the sofa in what was probably his quickest manoeuvre Adam had seen him perform in months, and headed towards the back garden.
Adam rubbed the stained skin on the back of his hand while following his father out back. His hand felt itchy and burned slightly. When he glanced at it he thought he saw a bump or blister there, but he never felt one. Just his imagination perhaps. The small garden of their semi-detached suburban house was overgrown with weeds in many places. In one corner stood the rusted corpses of what were at one time some useful gardening tools. In another lay the remains of what Adam thought was one of fathers long abandoned projects. Cut and shaped stones arranged in a quarter circle in the angle between fence and back wall, with more of the stones piled haphazardly in the space within. Adam thought it was going to be a fishpond or a birdbath or something, anything but a useless pile of stones. Father gave up a lot of things when mother went mad. And there on the fence was little Sparky. Lying very still. He hung over the fence like a stuffed scarf. Harold couldn't suppress a smile.
"Here Sparky. Sparky!"
"He's de-"
"Ssshhhh boy." Harold reached a tentative finger towards the dog.
"No dad don't-"
"Will you shut-up?"
"But…"
"Get in the house, now," his father snapped. Damn that little brat, if Mrs Wigs comes out now and sees her dog…He reached out again, quicker this time and took the dog up by its collar. The dog looked dirty, or darker. The dogs ears always had some paler pink flesh, but now it all appeared black. After a quick glance towards Mrs Wigs' back porch he dropped Sparky beyond the fence into the Wigs garden. It made a strange squelching sound, like a jelly splat.
"Yuk! I'm not taking the blame for that." He lumbered back into the house, and slammed the backdoor behind him.
In the kitchen Adam was rinsing his hand under the tap.
"Ok show me your hand," Harold said as he locked the back door.
"It's starting to burn dad." Adam winced as a new pang of pain shot up his arm.
"Still looks like oil to me. Give me the sponge." He started scrubbing away on the stubborn stain. "Is this from the dog?"
"I think so. When I touched Sparky it got on my hand. Owww! It really stings. Maybe I should…"
Ow! Harold turned his hand palm up. "How the hell?" The stain remained unchanged on Adam but now on the hand his father was using to scrub the stain, a similar dark stain spread to cover most of his palm. He watched it as it formed, starting from the middle of his palm until it covered almost all of it and partially around the base of his thumb.
"What the hell is this? Fuck, it does sting."
"Dad we should go to the doctor! Mine's hurting more…and…" Ahhhhh! Adam felt another stab of pain and while he looked the stain grew larger. When it stopped, most of his hand and part of his lower forearm was now black.
"Dad I'm scared!"
"Lets go. Get your coat."
As they left the house Mrs Wigs burst forth from her house next-door and marched purposely down the driveway. "Mr Franklin what have you done to my little Sparky? You bastard prick I know it was your doing! Well you or your little pig child's doing." Tears were in her eyes as she flung open her gate and went to intercept them both on the pathway. Her double chins quivered as she lurched towards them. Adam never liked her much, a miserable old bag who thought dogs where better than children no doubt.
"Excuse me Wigs," Harold replied with loathing in his voice. "We didn't go near your mutt and why would we? Now if you'll excuse us you rotten old bitch my son is ill!" Adam was shocked his father showed so much restraint. True his father hated the dog, but Adam knew he didn't kill it, and father didn't take kindly to being accused of anything he didn't do.
"You poisoned my dog you prick," she yelled after them as they made their way down the street. Some passers-by began to take notice.
"Dad, she's following us," mumbled Adam as he glanced behind him.
"I'll be calling the police, don't think I won't…"

2
Half a block away from their house Mrs Wigs had given up her pursuit. Harold had picked up his pace and Adam was almost running to keep up. He didn't think his dad could move so fast after his months of inactivity.
Harold received childcare and social welfare cheques since his wife Abbey went mad and tried to kill their son with her knitting needles. Adam was only six when it happened, and had two puncture marks in his stomach to remind him of why she wasn't around anymore. Abbey was reclusive, and Harold had to goad her to even leave the house for dinner or drinks with friends. She spent most of her time knitting, but never anything of use. Just mismatched colours and misshapen approximations of clothes. When asked why she didn't knit anything that could be worn instead of just a stream of knots, half-scarves and odd sock-shaped things that where too big to be socks, she just replied, "I didn't know you wanted me to. What would you like?"
"How about a jumper or something? A woolly hat maybe, for Adam."
"Ok dear. A woolly hat for Adam."
Adam didn't like his hat. He didn't like things on his head, least of all that itchy rainbow coloured hat that looked lopsided. Mother stabbed him with her needles the day she found the hat lying on the kitchen floor while Adam sat at the table eating. To this day he wished he'd just worn it and said he liked it when asked. Maybe then mother wouldn't have gone mad. He felt it was all his fault.
The doctors surgery was five blocks away, in a renovated house similar to their own. Most of the houses were the same council built affairs, with small front gardens and arranged in groups of five attached together. The surgery lay at the end of one of the semi-detached groups and so had room for extensions, which were so extensive they almost outgrew the original house. Harold and Adam saw a clump of people filling the garden and more milling around outside on the sidewalk. Three ambulances where parked outside and from the agitated gestures being displayed by the people it appeared that something was definitely amiss. As they got closer they could see paramedics lifting stretchers into the backs of the ambulances. The people on the stretchers where covered up. Two police cars arrived.
"Has someone died, dad?" asked Adam.
"I think so - hey what happened here?" Harold inquired of an onlooker.
"Not sure! People are dead. Look there's doctor Keane. Maybe he - what's that on his face?"
The doctor was climbing into the back of the furthest ambulance. There was a large black smudge on his left cheek that reached down his neck and under this shirt collar. It was identical to the marks on them.
"Dad the doctor has…"
"I know, sssh."
Harold pushed his way through the crowd towards the back of the ambulance. The police where herding some of the people away from the ambulances. Having got through the thickest part of the crowd he approached the nearest ambulance. The driver stood by the back door talking into the back. The driver noticed him approach.
"Hey, sir, move back now. We don't know…" the driver glanced at Harold's hand. "Jesus, you too?"
Harold looked at his hand. It was no longer just on his palm. His whole hand appeared black. He thought he saw some bumps on his skin, but they quickly vanished. A woman in the crowd screamed.
"She has it too!" came a shout from the crowd.
"And him, on his hand."
The crowd scattered with shouts and murmurs. Cries of "What's going on?" and "Are we going to die?" were plentiful as Harold noticed the people retreat around him and the screaming woman. She had a black smudge on her arm around the elbow.
"Tom there's no room for them. What will we do?" the driver asked into the ambulance.
"Call for more, and call for containment. I'll stay here." The paramedic came out of the back of the ambulance.
Harold's head swam. What's happening to us? To me?
"The boy has it as well." Adam had arrived by his fathers side.
"Are we going to die?" he asked.
Harold turned to the driver. "Here, there must be room for him," he said, lifting Adam towards the driver. Urging him to take him.
"I'm not touching him. Place him in back." The driver backed away and Harold put Adam in the back. Inside was the covered body on the stretcher. A hand was visible, poking out from under the sheet on the left side. It was completely black. A paramedic by the stretcher wore surgical gloves and a mask. His placed the sheet over the head of the body before Adam could see.
"Sit there. What's your name?"
"Adam."
"Ok Adam stay there now and don't move."
"We can make room for the other two over here," called the driver of another ambulance.
"Ok son, I'm going to go with them. I'll see you at the hospital, ok?"
"Ok dad." The doors closed, shutting Adam in. He felt odd, the irritation and burning had stopped once he was inside the ambulance. The ambulance started moving.
"How bad is it Adam?" asked the paramedic. "My name's Richard." He didn't offer his hand.
"Not sure, sir. Just my arm."
"Does it hurt? Take off your jacket and show me."
Adam couldn't help but stare at the black lifeless hand poking out from under the sheet. It had bumps on it. Similar to what he thought he could see on his hand back in the house. He wanted to see the rest. How much black was there? He felt compelled to touch it, and was about to…
"Adam? You ok, Adam?" Richard pulled the sheet over until it covered the black hand completely. "We wont let that happen to you, ok?"
"I want to see it."
"No I don't think you do. It's not pretty."
"I want to see. To see what might happen to me."
"Take off your jacket Adam. I want to see what it's like."
Adam removed his jacket and then rolled up his sleeve. His expected to see some white flesh on his arm, but there was none. It went further than his rolled up sleeve could reveal.
"You'll have to take that off too."
Adam did as he was told. Why doesn't it hurt now? I'm glad it doesn't hurt anymore. Having removed his shirt and his t-shirt he could see the black skin had enveloped most of his arm completely and was almost to his shoulder. He saw as he took off his shirt that numerous bumps covered the skin, but they receded almost as soon as the skin became exposed. Again he felt that urge to see the dead body. He wanted to touch it. Then he felt dizzy.
"It'll be alright Adam. We're almost there."
Join with us…touch us…we are almost…complete. The voice was a whisper in his head. No, a thousand voices, not one. Join us…he reached towards the sheet. He didn't notice the bumps on his black skin rise. His vision blurred. As Adam slipped his hand beneath the sheet he could feel the skin on his hand tingle. It felt strange, like his skin was starting to stretch. Pulling him towards the body beneath the sheet.
"Adam don't," snapped Richard as he took Adam by the shoulders and pushed him back away from the body, though not forcefully. Adams hand slipped from under the sheet and attached to his fingertips was the hand of the man beneath the sheet. The skin on his fingers appeared gelatinous as it came away from the other hand, pulling the body's hand out from under the sheet with his own. The bumps where moving about, pulsating, then quickly they vanished into his skin leaving it black and smooth.
Richard didn't notice. "Best not to touch him. You could make yourself worse."
"Sorry, sir." That felt good…didn't it. Gooooood…
"We're at the hospital now, everything will be fine. You'll see."

3
There was a team of doctors and nurses outside the accident and emergency entrance. All of them wearing gloves and face masks. Policemen had set up barriers that directed a path towards the main entrance, and were keeping the general public away from the ambulance unloading area. The commotion attracted a lot of curious onlookers. Adams ambulance was the first to arrive. When it stopped the back doors where immediately flung open. A nurse and doctor pulled up a stretcher and Richard directed Adam down onto it.
"Where's my dad?"
"He's on his way Adam," said Richard as he helped him down.
Another ambulance was pulling in. "Maybe my dad's in that."
"Could be, now lie still and the nurse will take you inside."
"No. I want to see my dad first."
"Adam, is it? Hi I'm Junette. Don't worry, you'll see your dad inside," said the nurse as she started pushing the stretcher towards the hospital entrance. The doctor leaned towards him.
"Hi there, Adam, can you tell me does it hurt? How do you feel?"
"Be careful!" The shout came from the driver of the second ambulance. There was another contingent of doctors and nurses at the back of that ambulance. The driver ran to the back. "I heard shouting from the back. Open the doors, but be careful."
A doctor was reaching for the door when they were suddenly thrown open from the inside. Adam sat up to see what was happening. The nurse pushing his stretcher also stopped to see what was going on. The doctor had left his side and was heading towards the second ambulance. The people at the ambulance jumped back. A nurse screamed. Adam saw a large blob of black ooze spill out from the ambulance. Sticking out of it were grotesque approximations of what looked to be arms and legs. One arm was clothed in the pale green material of a paramedics uniform. The thing spread like a jelly as it hit the ground and attached behind it came a pair of legs. The legs where clothed in jeans, his fathers faded blue jeans.
"Dad!" cried Adam, only to be drowned out by the shouts and screams of others. One nurse who wasn't quick enough to get out of the way had her leg ensnared by a black tendril. She cried help and tried to pull away, but the black mass of bumpy flesh whipped out another tentacle lightning fast that hit her square in the face. It attached to her with a sickening squelch sound, stifling her cries. Then it retracted, but it didn't pull her into it. Instead the skin came away from her face and around her neck. The bloody mess that remained of her face screamed again while the tentacle retracted inside the mass, taking her skin in with it. Her still twitching body fell to its knees as the ooze advanced. It reared up, like a wave of black sea in slow motion, and swallowed her whole.
Adam jumped off the stretcher, but then stood his ground not knowing where he could go or what to do. Everywhere was chaos. "What is it?" and "Kill it!" were the most commonly heard cries. It was my father. Or part of him. Part of me!
Adams hand twitched. His fingers felt soft and malleable. I'll be like that thing! A wide circle of security, police and doctors surrounded the black creature. It seemed to thin out as it covered the nurse and vaguely took on her humanoid shape before her solid substance beneath must have liquefied and became one with the viscous being. A strange feeling in his arm prompted Adam to glance again at his black hand. It was stretching towards the ground. His wrist thinned out as the hand drooped further down. He cried out, and then collapsed.

…to be continued.