It happened earlier today at work. Pale and nauseous, my stomach had been killing me all morning. I crept up from my desk and ran to the office men’s bathroom. I dove for the bowl, slamming the stall door shut behind me. I heaved and a fountain of bile spilled out my face.
Looking down, I saw what was in the bowl. What had come from me. I screamed but was drowned out by more vomit.
A chewed up finger, white and shriveled with a fingernail was floating in the toilet.
I flushed the toliet. I couldn’t look at it. The finger swirled in the water with the rest of the sick and dissipated down the drain. Blinking, I shook my head. I must have imagined it.
This was impossible. I’d spent the previous night in a holding cell. Just like I do every month during a full moon.