The Writings of James Adler

The day started like any other. The clock read 11:30 am (ish) as I groggily opened my eyes, still tangled in the remnants of a dream. But something was different. A strange sensation, like a tickle deep in my ear, pulled me fully awake. Panic surged through me as I realized something was crawling inside my ear.

My heart raced as I jumped out of bed, my mind reeling. What could it be? My fingers trembled as I grabbed my keys, bolting out the door and into my car. The drive to the emergency room, though only a short distance, felt like an eternity. Each second stretched out as I felt the creature rummaging around in my ear, a persistent and unnerving sensation that refused to let me think clearly.

When I finally reached the hospital, I stumbled inside, my voice shaking as I explained my situation to the receptionist. The medical staff quickly ushered me into an examination room. Time seemed to blur as I waited, the panic making every moment feel like an hour.

The doctor arrived, his expression skeptical as I described my ordeal. He instructed me to tilt my head, and with a steady hand, he began to examine my ear. The seconds felt like hours as he peered inside, his face a mask of concentration. Finally, he said he saw something small.

The nurses took over, their movements efficient and reassuring. They began the process of flushing out my ear. The sensation was overwhelming, but I focused on the promise of relief. After what felt like an eternity, they extracted the culprit – a baby spider. They quickly took it out of the room, eager to show the other doctors the unusual find.

Despite the initial relief, my anxiety spiked again as the nurses flushed my ear a second time to ensure it was the only one. Only when they were certain did I begin to feel a measure of calm return.

With the spider safely removed, I felt a wave of relief mixed with lingering discomfort. My ear was sore, a constant reminder of the morning’s ordeal. I thanked the doctors and nurses and left the hospital, still feeling on edge.

At home, I was determined to prevent such a nightmare from happening again. I wiped down all my walls and ceiling with cedar wood and peppermint oil, their scents filling the air with a sense of safety. I washed all my bedding, wanting to eradicate any potential threats. The idea of wearing ear muffs to bed suddenly seemed very appealing.

As I settled down that night, my ear still sore, I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. But I hoped that my precautions would keep me safe from any more unexpected visitors. And as I drifted off to sleep, I promised myself to be vigilant, even in the comfort of my own bed.