Segment from 'the inn'

The pain in his scalp was great and persistent, a sort of burning itching feeling.  He scratched at his head feeling a series of bumps under the skin. He dug at it faster, the burning growing, while the itching remained.  Then the burn disappeared, he dug with his nails now, the bumps seeming to give a little.  The itch continued to his forehead, where his hands followed.  He stopped as a very large bump on his hairline stopped Itching, he rubbed it.    He scampered over to the window, catching a vague reflection, the blemish seemed like a very large pimple.  He pinched at it, a white goopy lump emerged; he blinked and focused a bit more, shaking from his mind the thought that he saw it move. It emerged as more pressure was applied, the itching started back  now fainter this time. It popped out and slid onto his skin, upon picking it up, it felt solid, no bigger than two grains of cooked rice.  He looked closer at it, a little black pincer maw and muggy brown eyes dubbed one end of the little plump white body.   A maggot.
He recoiled and dropped it, watching it writhe on the floor; quickly now groping the rest of his head, combing fingers through hair.  The itching gained as more white grubs fell out f his hair, he felt them now everywhere. On his face, arms shoulders, crawling out of his flesh.  Then the itch turned into a sting then a sharp searing pain.  They were moving inwards, eating muscle and tendon.  He collapsed to his knees, the realization that some mass of small foreign creatures had somehow inhabited him, eating his nerves and veins, every fiber of his being was their meal. he screamed as he watched his vision start to black round the edges, little white crawlers writhed as they fell from him to the floor.  His shouts intensified in fear and agony as the pain gained and the grubs piled up around him.  He could do nothing but stay conscious as he felt them eat him away. He had a little fight left in him, this could not be the way he was to go.  The wall rattled as he slammed his body into it, slinging his head into it as well.  He felt the ones embedded in his shoulder and head burst under his skin. He lurched towards the opposite wall, and it greeted him just the same, blood splotched  the wall as more of the inhabited pockets were smashed. Red now blended with black in his vision as blood trickled down his eye, and onto the floor.  The mass of squirming larva swarmed to the now growing puddle of warm liquid.  He felt them in his head, his veins, writhing in delight as their host gave unwillingly.  He slid down now, segments of his arms and hands were now cavities where groups poured out.  Shriveled and deflated patches of flesh marked where they were emptying out his muscles.  His strength left him, he blinked wanting tears yet finding only solid little greedy chunks being blinked away and falling to the ground.  His vision faded to black, he dragged his arm along his leg, only slightly feeling the little mounds of pasty white flesh that were destroying him.  

The orderly 's sneakers squeaked as he hustled in, his gruff voice hollering about a sedative, then the tape went dead.  The files showed numbers, mostly dates, then the sheet she was looking for appeared out of the  thick cluster.  His name was Emit Lannger, age 34, he was admitted in 1948.  Originally they thought he had a skin condition but when he smashed his 4 year old son between him and the garage wall during a bout they looked into it.  The symptoms screamed post traumatic stress disorder, the most puzzling part was that he had suffered no form of trauma during his lifetime.  The doctor would orally record what he imagined was going through Emit's mind.  There were several more tapes with different scenarios; fire, misquito's, rats, ice, dissolving.  Ryce popped the reel of the player, it's lable said maggots.