Trypophobia: An aversion to the sight of irregular patterns or clusters of small holes or bumps.
I.
Last night, my niece Abby found a hole in the middle of her father’s farm. I happened to be visiting that evening when she ran up the cornrows. Her cheeks flushed with her honeyed colored bangs sweated to her forehead. “Dad! Dad!” She puffed out of the field. Her tiny arms and legs pumping as fast as she could. She was not watching her feet as she slid on some gravel on the edge of the yard. She skidded on her palms and legs in the dirt path up to the porch. She was still trying to crawl up to us. Eli, her father, leapt from the deck and scooped up his daughter.
Eli’s half buzz evaporated as he gently picked his daughter out of the dirt. Eli was settling into his ninth beer when Abby took her spill. Eli was built like an oak tree, broad-shouldered with wisps of overly sunned hair peeking out from his dark brown curls. Eli laughed as he tried to hold onto his daughter. “What happened out there Apple-Pie?”
“Daddy! I found something!” Abby squirmed in her father’s arms. She struggled to get her feet back onto the ground. Her torn hands gripped her father’s sleeve and began to drag him back into the field. “Quick! Come on!”
Eli looked back at me. His small eyes growing large with annoyance. Eli loved his daughter, but he was cautious to take her at her word. Abby, since my sister Nora passed about two years ago, had taken to telling tales and running off into the fields at night. Eli Tromaine adored his daughter but felt he was starting to get in over his head with her. Abby kicked dirt at his boots. Her hands gripping tighter as she pulled at his white and blue flannel shirt. Her bloody handprints climbing higher up his sleeve. Her knees tacky with drying blood, as the hemline of her sundress stuck to them.
“Abby,” I stumble over towards them. I had just crushed my tenth beer can. I stick my hands into my pockets and try to see over the browning stalks. “What did you find out there?”
“It’s fine Cole.” Eli flicked his eyes, busting me back down into place. If there is one thing Eli hated, it was someone trying to interfere in his business. No matter how benign, it all felt the same to him. Eli gripped Abby’s wrists, forcing her hands over. Her palms were ruby red and streaked with dark mud. Little pieces of rock-studded the meaty part by her thumb. I noticed her pink fingernail polish was chipped, with grey and red mud caked deep underneath them. Her hands were filthy before she fell. “Again, what were you doing out there Apple-Pie?”
“Come on!” Abby snapped her hands out of her father’s. In a split-second, Abby was flying back into the rows with Eli hot on her heels. I had never seen my niece run so quickly in my life. My heart skipped a beat as Eli and Abby vanished so completely back into the rows. I listened to the rustling of dried stalks and Eli’s shouting. His deep voice booming out to her. Little Abby sounding off ahead of him, calling her father towards her. I took off in the direction of their noises. My heart racing before I even started to run. Abby was acting possessed.
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