Joy Worms - Part One
By Rob Gillham
This Week, The Daily Tomorrow is overjoyed to present a sweeping story by British author Rob Gillham. May it wriggle its way into your day…
Joy Worms
By Rob Gillham
T'gthith of the Second Iteration greets you, Metahive Mother. After a failed first attempt, a sustainable spawning has taken.
Excerpt #1 from Joyce Renfeld's 2041 autobiography, Worm Lady:
I certainly never intended to become famous for introducing the world to alien worms.
Back in 2034, my research was focused on the psychotropic properties of certain extraterrestrial plants—that is until I discovered the creatures nestling amongst the dense foliage in my climate-controlled lab.
The invaders were tiny pale blobs reminiscent of maggots, but I didn't recognize the species. Cursing, I placed one of the grubs under a microscope. If these were off-world lifeforms that had smuggled themselves through orbital bio-screening then my entire stock of plants was liable to be impounded and destroyed.
I peered through the microscope. The specimen's body was segmented like an earthworm's, but was otherwise featureless, lacking any obvious appendages or orifices.
As I inspected the creature, a tiny tear appeared in one of its extremes. The ends of the slit turned upwards in an emoji-like smile.
"Good morning," it said.
"Good morning," I responded numbly. Was this my increasingly regular alcohol intake catching up with me, or had spores from one of the more hallucinogenic plants in the lab become airborne?
"I was wondering," the thing said, "whether you might pass on a message to your planetary leadership."
"We don't have a planetary leader," I said, trying to fathom exactly where the voice was coming from. It was perfectly audible, despite the worm's tiny size. "There are lots of countries and each has its own leader—sometimes more than one."
Both ends of the slit mouth turned down slightly. "Ah, multi-government. Messy. That is regrettable. Oh well, thanks."
The invertebrate performed a one-hundred and eighty-degree roll. Then it turned inside out. I'd a brief impression of a black, chitinous interior and two rows of shiny black legs like wickedly hooked talons. I shrieked and recoiled. When I returned to the microscope, it was a fat, white grub again, and completely inert.
T'gthith of the Fourth Iteration greets you, Metahive Mother. Contact with hominid representative enacted. Verbal communication produced a positive response, but adverse reactions observed when we squirdge or humurgle. Future iterations to proceed accordingly.
Worm Lady, excerpt #2:
One morning, about three months after my partner moved out, I awoke—not on the couch with last night's bottle of wine still open on the table, but in my bed for a change.
I opened my eyes cautiously, awaiting the lancing pain of a headache. Instead, I experienced only a wonderful sense of clarity and renewed energy.
I let out a small cry. One of the worms sat on the pillow next to my head. I had no memory of taking it home with me.
The creature was longer and fatter than any of its kind so far, being almost the length of my forearm. Its white body was flecked with mottled gray spots. Motionless on the pillow, it looked for all the world like some bizarre stuffed toy.
I slept with the worm beside me every night that week, by the end of which I'd done more work than I'd managed in months, quit drinking and, for reasons I couldn't explain—other than I'd always wanted to do it—joined an amateur drama group.
Rob Gillham is an author of weird and dark fantasy short fiction. He lives in London, UK. His writing occurs in the margins of the day, where it competes for his time with playing double bass in an obscure gothic rockabilly band. Rob’s stories have appeared—or are due to appear— in Escape Pod, Cosmic Horror Monthly, Kaleidotrope, Daily Science Fiction, Tales To Terrify and Creepy Podcast amongst others. You can find links to all his published work and social media via his website: robgillham.com.
Copyright © 2025 Rob Gillham