From Mondays to Saturdays—excluding bank holidays—a special exhibit opens at the Parasitological Museum for a couple of hours around lunchtime. The special exhibit is not listed on the printed maps available at the reception desk, nor is it detailed in the Museum’s newsletter, or on the Museum’s website (which is otherwise comprehensive). The special exhibit is not housed in a prominent location in the Museum. The way-finding signage installed throughout the building alerts visitors to the whereabouts of the café, the restaurant, the gift shop, the toilets; every public exhibition area, in fact, except the special exhibit. Vinyl arrows on the walls point to everything but.

         The special exhibit is located beyond the prehistoric worms and the desiccated ticks now quarantined permanently in Perspex-lidded cases. It is located beyond the animations and animatronics that articulate the lifecycle of this or that parasite in timed shudders and starts. It is located beyond the café and restaurant. It is located down several sets of corridors and up several sets of stairs, without a single arrow to indicate its whereabouts. It is as if the exhibit, ignored by the institution that ostensibly hosts it, simply found an available space and installed itself. The special exhibit is located at the end of a squat, ill-lit corridor, opposite the door of what appears to be a store cupboard. A small metal grill embedded in the wall is the only thing that suggests an exhibit, in the unlikely event that a visitor might come across this corridor by chance.

         A button next to the grill says PRESS. Once this button is pressed, a burst of static issues from the metal grill, behind which lies a speaker. A visitor might be startled by this noise, and look around nervously, perhaps for a member of museum staff to inform, or assist. The visitor would find no-one. No-one staffs this exhibit because, in a manner of speaking, it staffs itself. The visitor, thinking that they hadn't found another exhibit after all, but an intercom or some other utility, might turn to leave the way they came, back down various sets of stairs and corridors to the main galleries. At this point, a recorded voice from behind the grill would begin to speak.

*

“Hello, I’m Deeerrreeekk,” says the voice. The voice sounds weary, defeated. The voice speaks quietly, so quietly that in order to hear properly the visitor is forced to crouch down and move their head closer to the metal grill. When the visitor does this, they notice another feature embedded in the wall next to the grill; a round wooden panel, about a foot in diameter, painted the same greasy beige colour as the corridor walls. There is a small knob on it that presumably opens this odd window. The panel is almost completely hidden in shadow, and impossible to see from the middle of the corridor. Despite the panel’s obscure placement, the visitor deduces that this window is part of the special exhibit, and is meant to be looked through at some point as part of the experience.

“Welcome to the Parasitological Museum. Welcome to one of the museum's mooossst ssspecial exhibiiits. Have you had your lunch yet?”      

The voice could almost sound sarcastic, if it didn't sound so dejected. While wondering whether the exhibit requires a verbal response, the visitor instinctively thinks of the film-wrapped sandwiches in their backpack – a pre-prepared lunch bought with them to avoid the Museum café's prices.

“Good,” the voice continues, without waiting for an answer to its question, “it's best to see the ssspecial exhibit on an emmpptty stommaacchh.”

The visitor is relieved that the exhibit doesn't seem to require interaction.

“This exhhiibbit isssnnn't for the squuueeeaaamisshh.”

The voice seems to be reading from a script that dictates a dramatic emphasis on certain words. However, the voice, uniformly monotonous in its delivery, is unable to summon the necessary effort, so instead stretches out these words in a flattening sort of way.

“If you have visited the rest of the museum, you will have seeeen what paarraasiites can do. You will have seen how easily a dangerous parasite can be ingested through fffoooodd, or through immmproper hhyyggeeiinnee. Even a carelessly prepared saaannnddwiiicchh can leeeaaddd to paarraassiittic infffeeecttionn.”

The visitor thinks again of their sandwich.

“I know this toooo well,” says the voice, with a barely perceptible lilt of emotion. The recording quality is poor, making it difficult to determine the voice's exact tone. A silence follows this last statement. The visitor looks around, wondering whether the recording had switched itself off somehow, or whether the voice had finally succumbed to despair. Perhaps the silence is a cue to open the wooden panel and peer at whatever lies behind it? The visitor reaches for the knob and gently pulls it. The wooden panel sticks. The visitor tugs it harder and it gives, revealing a dark circular hole cut into the wall. Nothing is immediately visible but some soft light emanates from inside.   

As the visitor leans forward to look closer, the voice crackles back into action: “I know this toooo well... because I got infected... byyy aaaa paarraasssiiittteee.” The visitor leans backwards again, in case the parasite is still alive, looking for a new host. “I used to work here... I used to work in the Parasitological Muusseeuuummm. My naammee... was Derek. Look.”

The visitor reminds themselves that they are in the sterile confines of the Parasitological Museum, and overcomes their brief aversion. They lean forward once again, pressing their face into the hole and scanning the darkness. As they do, the lighting in the space behind the wall changes. Suddenly a dim spotlight grows brighter, and partially reveals a tableau in the left side of the dark space. Although the visitor cannot guess the extent of the space behind the wall, they surmise that it must be at least as big as the corridor that adjoins it. The revealed tableau depicts a kitchen, or staffroom, suggested by various props. A laminated spreadsheet headed ‘SEE ROTA’ is pinned to a wall; a whiteboard pen is tied to one of the pins with some string; sundry coats and bags hang from a row of coat hooks. A canteen-style folding table completes the scene. The table has teacups, tissues and plastic utensils scattered across its surface. Other objects rest on it, unidentifiable in the shadows.

On either side of the table sits a figure on a chair, although only the figure on the left can be seen clearly. The visitor scrutinises the figure on the left, a worn-looking mannequin wearing an approximate expression, somewhere between a grin and a grimace. The mannequin is clothed in a Parasitological Museum attendant’s uniform. The mannequin’s magnetic name badge reads ‘Susan’. A cigarette is stuck to one of the mannequin’s hands, and an opened can of Lilt rests at the other. Together, these items convey Susan’s casual attitude.

“Susan’s a friend of mine. She stiiilll iissss…” says Derek. The sound of another person’s voice, presumably Susan’s, begins to fade in from the ambient background of the recording.

“She’s off-duty. She’s enjoying herself. She’s having a breeeaaakkk.” Susan’s voice grows louder. She delivers an excited, unintelligible monologue that fades out again after a few seconds. “I’m never off-duty,” says Derek, “not anymore... not after it haaappeenneedd...”

The visitor assumes that the shadowy form occupying the right end of the table is another mannequin, one representing Derek. The shadows are deep and dark, but the visitor can see that Derek is much larger than Susan.

“Nobody knows for sure how it got there... but somehow a rare parasite found its way into my saanndwicchees.”

The lighting in the room changes again. The main spotlights dim and a bright, narrow light illuminates the remains of a sandwich on a plate, set on the counter behind the table. The sandwich's contents are strewn over the plate and counter, like it had been rummaged through. The visitor can see that it was a prawn sandwich, and contained about ten little pink prawns, coated in congealed mayonnaise and accompanied by a few leaves of lettuce. The food looks like actual food, rather than prop food. The visitor wonders whether the prawns are replenished daily.

“At the Parasitological Museum we take great care with hyyyggeeiinneee... and the staffroom is no exception... but somehow the parasite got in... and onto my saanndwicchees.”

The visitor notices something else amongst the prawns, not very dissimilar in shape but a little bigger. The creature is yellow in colour and has an exoskeleton like an unshelled prawn. It looks insectoid. A number of legs proliferate from its underside. Two jointed proboscises, about twice the length of its legs, protrude rigidly from its mouth. A cluster of thin, hair-like tendrils of different lengths proceed from the same orifice. Some of the longer tendrils twist and bunch around the central proboscises, giving the impression of an unkempt moustache. The creature, backgrounded by a fan of mayonnaise-glazed lettuce, rests on its side, and is presumably supposed to be dead, like the prawns.

“I was happily eating my sandwich one lunchtime when my teeth bit down on something brrriiittle...”

The visitor scans the creature for damage. A paddle-shaped appendage dangles from its rear, crushed.

“I opened my mouth... As soon as I released my bite I felt something slimy... squirted into my mouth... with force... it hit the roof of my mouth and slliidd dooowwwn my thrrroooaaattt... I rushed to the sink to spit it out but I... had swaalloowweedd it...”

The sounds of frantic spitting and gushing taps flood the soundtrack.

“Once I opened up my sandwich to see what I'd bitten in to I did everything I could to get rid of it...”

A chorus of canned heaves and moans fades in.

“The Museum were fascinated by the find... but no-one could tell me exactly what this parasite was... or exactly what it ddiiiddd...”

The ambient noise fades from the soundtrack. A dramatic reverb effect has been applied to the voice. The voice continues, with a little urgency, striking in comparison to the enervated delivery so far: “The parasitological experts were familiar with species of parasite similar to this... that attached themselves to small mammals like rabbits and rodents... but were thought harmless to humans. They even claim to have found a specimen of this same species, not far from the Parasitological Museum. It too was dead... sppeennttt. They had never found a live specimen... They had never found an infected host. So they did not know what the parasite did. They did not know what the parasite does.”

The lights in the room dim entirely. There is a faint pop as the signal to the speaker is shut off. The visitor guesses that they are about to find out exactly what it is that the parasite did, or does. They stare through the window into the darkness, expecting a short wait. They consider themselves accustomed to the special exhibit's theatrics. Nevertheless, the visitor starts to feel uncomfortable offering their face up to the dark, silent room for an unknown period of time. They turn their head away and blink at the light of the corridor, which now seems too bright.

“I'm Derek," resumes the voice, “and I used to be an employee of the Parasitological Museum... as you can ssseeeeee... I've still got my naaammee baaaddggge oooonnnn...”

The room slowly brightens. The spotlights are programmed in a new configuration that, eventually, makes visible the figure at the end of the table on the right. The figure is as still as its counterpart, Susan. A mannequin, evidently, but one constructed of different materials than its colleague. This mannequin sits roughly opposite Susan, its body facing her, as the visitor could see earlier when it was still shrouded in darkness. However, the visitor can now see that it is bigger than they assumed, because it actually sits on the floor rather than on a chair. Its lower parts occupy most of the negative space beneath the table. It is fat and bloated, and its underbelly spills out on to the table surface. It wears a magnetic name badge that reads 'Derek'. Two words are printed below that, too small to read.

“Exhibition assistant,” says the voice, "I used to be an exhibition assistant...”

The visitor looks into the mannequin's face as it speaks. It possesses a mixture of humanoid and insectoid features. The eyes are far apart, situated either side of the face, though the head is tilted towards the visitor, so that both eyes seem to look directly at them. Between the eyes lies a small, round mouth, framed by a long moustache made up of hairs and proboscises of varying lengths and thicknesses. When the mannequin speaks, the bristles around its mouth move, as if stirred by a gentle breeze.

“I used to be an exhibition assistant, but—”

The visitor tries to close the panel in the wall. Now that the voice is properly embodied, the special exhibit's overall impact on the visitor is strongly felt. The panel bounces open again, having been closed too hastily.

“I used to be an exhibition assistant but now I am—”

The visitor closes the panel once again, more firmly, and walks quickly back down the corridor. The visitor is anxious to get out of earshot of the special exhibit, but unwittingly catches the conclusion of Derek's monologue. So, though the visitor does not need Derek to tell them that Derek is now an exhibit rather than an exhibition assistant, and that the Museum is parasitic as well as Parasitological, that is exactly what Derek does.

         The visitor makes their way to the main exit, back along several sets of corridors and down several sets of stairs, through the café and restaurant, past the animations and animatronics, and finally through the main galleries to the reception, avoiding the encased worms and ticks where possible. The visitor unzips their backpack before walking outside and pulls out their film-wrapped sandwiches. They throw them in a bin just inside the museum entrance, despite not having yet eaten anything, and it now being quite late in the afternoon.