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Near my high school girlfriend’s house there was this path. It went from her street to the nearest bus stop. It was shaded by trees and a really pleasant walk. But whenever it rained, it was covered in snails.
A horrifying thread.
A horrifying thread.
I was leaving her place one night. It was dark, and it had just rained. And when I got to the path, the lights that normally lit it were out.
I figured, whatever. I’ve been down this path dozens of times. It’s a straight line. I’ll be fine in the dark. And this was the middle of the nineties, I definitely didn’t have a smart phone with a light on it in my pocket.
I got about a third of the way through the path when I felt the first crunch under my foot.
Oh my god, that was a snail, I thought. I felt really bad.
I continued to walk.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Oh my god, that was a snail, I thought. I felt really bad.
I continued to walk.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Now I’m feeling awful. I love snails. I’ve just killed four or five of them and it seems like they are becoming more densely packed in front of me.
And then it starts to pour rain.
And then it starts to pour rain.
So now I have a choice: I can continue onwards and be a monstrous snail murderer, or double back, take the long way around, miss my bus and have to wait an hour in a downpour.
My heart can’t take the snail popping sounds, so I decide to go back.
My heart can’t take the snail popping sounds, so I decide to go back.
Unfortunately, the downpour has brought out more snails behind me, and the walk back is two or three snails under every step. I don’t get very far. I’m frozen in the middle of the path, getting soaked.
I take another step on the way back.
Crunch.
I take another step on the way forward.
Crunch.
I take a really deep breath.
Crunch.
I take another step on the way forward.
Crunch.
I take a really deep breath.
I mean, I could just stay here until morning, right? In the middle of a path in the dark in a downpour?
Except I have to sleep. And I bet if I lay down on the path I’ll murder a hundred snails.
Except I have to sleep. And I bet if I lay down on the path I’ll murder a hundred snails.
With tears in my eyes, I decide to press forwards. I run as fast as I can, taking strides as large as I can to avoid as much snail carnage as possible.
In the distance, I can see the light of the bus stop. I’m almost there. The nightmare is almost over.
I step on a particularly large group of snails and lose my balance. I fall.
crunchcrunchcrunchcrunchcrunch
I step on a particularly large group of snails and lose my balance. I fall.
crunchcrunchcrunchcrunchcrunch
Well, this has been the worst ten minutes of my entire life, I’m thinking.
Any direction that I roll to try to get up I can hear snails popping. I can feel something soaking through my shirt back. Oh my god, do snails have blood?
It is then that I realize that I have lost my glasses.
So I’m on my hands and knees, trying to drag myself across the ground to avoid killing any more snails, feeling around through the carnage I’ve already created for my glasses. I find them.
I walk slowly, dejectedly to the bus stop. The bus is there.
I walk slowly, dejectedly to the bus stop. The bus is there.
“Are you covered in mud?” asks the bus driver.
“Actually these are dead snails,” I reply.
He closes the door in my face and drives off.
“Actually these are dead snails,” I reply.
He closes the door in my face and drives off.
I walked home, took me two hours. And I threw all of those clothes away.
It was dark and over twenty years ago and the girl dumped me for a guy with a rat-tail named Steve she met at university, I definitely do not know what kind of snails they were.
Can I just say how happy I am that only one person unfollowed me because of that horrifying snail story? You’re all the greatest.
WHERE WERE YOU IN MY MOMENT OF NEED TWENTY YEARS AGO, AMY
I should probably stop using twitter as a substitute for therapy.
