Dandruff

Nikolai splashed cold water on his face and stared at himself in the mirror above the sink. Eyes, sunken, swollen, and red met his gaze in return. His own, but not familiar. Beads of sweat ran down his brow and over his eyelids. He wiped them away and gripped the edges of the sink.

"Fuck. Okay. Just breath, it's fine," he said to himself. But as if the universe felt impelled to prove him wrong in that very moment, lest he get too confident and carried away in his own arrogance, Nikolai's lunch suddenly rushed up the inside of his throat, getting caught behind his now fully inflated cheeks. He dove to his left and expelled the vomit somewhat in, but mostly around, the toilet, before passing out.

---

At first, when Nikolai received the divorce papers from his wife's attorney, he only showed signs of anxiety that were to be expected. Shaking, rapid heartbeat, restless nights in bed.

Nikolai did not understand why his wife was leaving him. He racked his brain every waking hour trying to uncover what he was missing—some behavior he had displayed, some complaint he kept nagging on about, anything that would explain her sudden departure from their house, and her even more sudden request for legal separation.

When it became too much for Nikolai, and after numerous failed attempts to reach his wife by phone, he decided to go looking for her so he could confront her in person. He just wanted answers, to understand why she left.

His anxiety had been getting worse over the last two weeks. His appetite was nonexistent and he had almost no energy to take care of his hygiene. This last point, he noted to himself, had led to his scalp becoming incredibly dry and itchy.

Nikolai was not sure where his wife had been staying the last few weeks, but he did know places around town she would visit regularly. He decided if he were to find his estranged wife, asking around at these places was his best jumping off point. Someone, somewhere, must be able to get him in touch with her.

First he stopped by the salon down on Park Avenue where his wife would regularly get her hair done. As he made his way there, Nikolai recalled an argument he had last winter with her about the salon. He thought she spent too much time there, too much of his money.

His wife had been standing at the fridge trying to find something to make him for dinner after his long day at work.

"Your hair never looks any different—there's no reason you should be going there every week! It's a waste of money," he had said, exasperated and at the top of his lungs. After a tireless day at work his fuse was short and it was easy for him to be set off.

"They're cleaning up my split ends, Nikki! For fucks sake how many times do I have to tell you this!" she yelled back, slamming the fridge behind her as she left the room. "Besides, I like talking to the girls there. They get me, you know? They care about what's going on in my life, unlike some ungrateful prick I know!"

She slammed the bedroom door behind her. Muffled, she yelled, "Make dinner yourself, asshole."

She yelled a lot, and slammed things a lot, Nikolai recalled. Maybe she was right, though. Maybe he hadn't paid enough attention to his wife's interests, her opinions. Maybe that's why she left him. Nikolai itched his head and continued walking.

The salon door swung open, ringing a bell to let the desk clerk know someone had just entered.

"Hello, I'm hoping to get some help with a personal matter," Nikolai began.

"Why hello there, sir, we'd be happy to—Oh, oh," the clerk began before stopping mid sentence, scrunching her nose and partly covering it with her hand.

"I-I'm sorry sir, but—well—I don't know how to say this but... We unfortunately can't help you in your—your current state, " she said, gesturing up and down towards Nikolai.

"Oh, I understand, ma'am, but this will only take a moment. I'm looking for my wife, I haven't heard from her in a few weeks and—"

The clerk jolted up and began to head for the back of the salon. "I'm s–sorry sir but, agh, God, we aren't going to be able to help you. Please clean yourself up and come back another time." With that, she jolted behind a sign that was marked employees only and Nikolai found himself alone at the front of the salon.

Nobody else was in the salon this early in the morning, and it was apparent the clerk was not going to return any time soon, so Nikolai, begrudgingly, decided to move on and try his luck elsewhere. With both hands clasping his head, he itched his scalp, used his elbow to fling open the door, and made his way back onto the street.

Nikolai decided his next best bet for finding out where his wife may be was her best friend, Rebecca, who lived down the hill in the Pine Grove neighborhood. Nikolai did not know exactly which house Rebecca lived in—he had never really spent any time with his wife's friends outside of the occasional holiday party at a restaurant or club— but he knew the street. He remembered picking her up one night, drunk, after a work engagement ran late.

"For fucks sake, it's freezing out here. Get in the car," Nikolai had yelled out the passenger window from across the car. His wife was stumbling down the street wearing high heels and no jacket in the middle of January.

"Or what, Nikki? Whatareya gonna do if I don't get in? Be a big, strong, man and force me into the car? Ha!" She snorted and stumbled, almost falling face first onto the sidewalk.

"I don't have time for this, get in the fucking car," Nikolai yelled. She knew how to get under his skin, make him feel emasculated for her own amusement.

"Oh lighten up, Jesus, it was just a joke! You never have time for anything but business, business, business," she groaned while rolling her eyes back into her head. For a moment he wasn't sure they would ever roll forward again.

As Nikolai weaved through tree covered roads, looking for that block he was sure Rebecca lived on, he thought about his wife's words. Maybe she was right, maybe he didn't take enough time to lighten up and have fun. Maybe that's why she left him.

He contemplated this and began to itch his scalp once more. It felt hot to the touch, and so dry that he worried all the moisture from his hands would be sucked up by it if he wasn't careful. He winced and pulled his right hand away. A slight amount of blood was glistening under his fingernail, blood from itching his scalp too hard.

After staring at the blood for a minute he looked up and realized he was on the block from that January when he picked his drunk wife up. Nikolai thought he saw a woman at the end of the block that, yes, after closer examination, must be Rebecca. He began to jog towards her. The itchiness of his scalp seemed to get more and more intense with each step. He held his head in his hands and itched, itched, itched, as he made his way toward Rebecca.

"Rebecca? Rebecca! Hey, Rebecca!"

He was full on sprinting now. About two houses away the figure that appeared to be Rebecca came more into focus and Nikolai realized it was, in fact, not her. The woman looked petrified at the sight of a dirty, old man running towards her down the street, head in his hands, screaming a name which was not her own. She quickly unlocked her front door, jumped inside, and locked the door behind her.

Nikolai stopped running. He was seething in pain by this point, fingers digging as deep as they could into his scalp to get the itching to stop. He heard his name called from behind and snapped his head backward to see who it could be.

"Nikki? Nikolai is that you? What are you doing here? You shouldn't be here."

It was Rebecca, across the street on the front porch of what must be her house. Nikolai was so relieved at this sight that he almost forgot about the itching for just a moment. He began to sprint towards Rebecca.

"Rebecca, Rebecca, I'm looking for my wife, do you—agh, fuck—do you know where she is?" Nikolai was nearly manic at this point, and his hands could not stop tearing at his scalp. Blood was dripping down and mixing with the sweat on his face, casting a splotchy, transparent red paint over his eyes.

"Nikolai, she's said what she's needed to say to you. She doesn't want to see you." Rebecca, seeing Nikolai was not about to slow his approach, continued, "She's not here, Nikolai. You're wasting your time. I'll have to call the cops if you don't—Oh shit, Nikki, what the hell is wrong with your head?"

The words went in one ear and out the other. Nikolai felt as though he was hallucinating, his vision was blurry and his heart was racing a hundred miles an hour. He stumbled past Rebecca and pushed into her house, ignoring her obvious objections.

Nikolai fell to the floor, head still grasped between his hands. He lunged himself forward, wobbling back up to his feet, and dove head first into the first door he saw. Luckily it was a bathroom, and Nikolai promptly shut and locked the door behind him before turning the sink on.

---

When Nikolai finally awoke it took him a few minutes to gather how he had gotten here, to this bathroom, covered in vomit and blood. As he sat up, back against the edge of the tub, his head began to itch again. The itchiness was so intense, so visceral and all-encompassing, Nikolai thought he would go mad. He scratched and scratched, back and forth to no avail. He dug his fingers deeper and deeper into his scalp. Nikolai let out a guttural, animal shriek as he scratched his fingers so deep that he was now ripping out chunks of his own scalp.

"Oh, God! Oh, fuck! Make it stop, please make it stop!" Nikolai pleaded. "Where is my wife? Please, get me my wife! Please, oh god, it hurts so bad!"

As chunks of skin, hair, and tissue began to slide down Nikolai's hands and onto the floor, a new sensation greeted his finger tips. Below the bits of scalp that were being removed from his own head, Nikolai felt a cool, moist texture slide and wiggle around his fingers.

Maggots were living right under his skin.

They began to work their way down his arms and crawl onto his face. Nikolai wanted to bat them away but he couldn't stop itching his scalp. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't move his arms anywhere else.

The maggots seemed to be never ending. Before long they had discovered new, dark caverns to explore on Nikolai's face. Then they discovered two soft bodies of warmth to nestle themselves behind. In a matter of moments thousands of maggots had devoured what was Nikolai's face, and then his head entirely.

By the time the police arrived and were able to cut down the door to Rebecca's bathroom, all they were greeted with was a pile of countless maggots on the ground, peculiarly and loosely arranged in the shape of a human body. The maggots were static, all except for those at what would be the top of the head. The maggots found there were the only ones unaffected by the group comatose, and were moving rapidly, violently, back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.