The Black Dots

Tuesday I bumped into my neighbor in the hallway. It was a sweltering July heatwave, yet she was bundled up in a heavy winter coat, a thick scarf, and a mask. A pungent smell of medicinal ointments trailed behind her. Thursday I bought a fresh honeycomb from the farmer's market. We shared the elevator ride up. She was clutching a ragged, antique book. When she saw the honeycomb in my hands, she let out a choked gasp and pressed herself into the corner, looking at me with absolute terror. Friday I woke up to find the floor beneath my window AC unit covered in hundreds of tiny, black dots. I vacuumed them up, feeling annoyed. Sunday There are more black dots today. And a clump of rotting hair. I'm packing my bags immediately.