Dark Winds Over Wellington

by Tabatha Wood

  “Our other neighbour. Hilary?”

  Robert finally managed to extract himself. He threw the shirt on the floor before getting into the bed.

  “No idea. Maybe? I reckon Paul just likes spinning a good yarn. Does it matter?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go round tomorrow and introduce myself. If Paul’s right, it seems a shame. Her all alone in that house like that. Not seeing anyone.”

  Robert kissed her lightly on her cheek, then reached over and switched off the bedside lamp.

  “Whatever you think, babe.”

  Two days later, contrary to Paul’s warning, Maureen stood outside number 43 with a small potted Peace Lily in her hands. The house was desperately in need of some maintenance. Parts of the walls were rotten and crumbling. All the window panes were either cracked, covered in a layer of mould, or both. Only the garden was in any way neat. Her neighbours clearly did a good job there.

  She knocked on the door and watched as flecks of brown paint fluttered to the ground. A shuffling noise came from inside the house.

  “Hello?” she called. “My name is Maureen Stamford. I’m your new neighbour. From around the corner.” She listened. There was another shuffle and a skittering noise, this time closer to the door.

  “I’ve just come to say hello, if you’re not busy?”

  There came a thump, and a strange, thick, sliding sound, like something heavy being dragged across a carpet. Maureen heard snuffling and panting. She moved closer to the door, leaning towards the sound.

  “Hello? Hilary?” She got as close as she could without actually touching her ear to the grime-slick wood.

  “Fuck off!”

  Maureen jumped at the sudden insult, almost dropping the plant in surprise.

  “Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, I just wanted to…”

  “What are you here for?”

  “I just came to say hello. I…”

  “Go away and stay away! We don’t want you here! We’ve never wanted you here!” The voice was strong and deliberate, not exactly the sound of an older woman that Maureen had been expecting. There was an edge there. A nastiness. Maureen didn’t want to hang around to find out what else she had to say. She turned and left without replying, and headed back to her own garden gate.

  The encounter played on Maureen’s mind for the rest of the day, and especially each time she caught sight of the Peace Lily sitting on the dining room table. Why had the woman referred to “we” when Paul had said she was living alone? Maybe she had a pet or something. A dog perhaps. That would explain the snuffling and panting sounds.

  She tried to distract herself by unpacking boxes, washing laundry, and scrubbing the tiles in the bathroom. By the time the boys had come home from school she was feeling a little happier, but still unsettled. She busied herself making food for them all for when Robert got back from the city, while the boys played football in the garden. She was standing at the stovetop stirring the store-bought sauce and meatballs, watching the wind ripple the trees in the back garden, when she heard Michael call out to her.

  “Mum? There’s something wrong with the laundry.”

  She leaned to one side so she could see out of the kitchen window, see the rotary drier where she had hung a load of towels earlier in the day. The boys were standing in front of the lines, but she could still make out strange, brown marks streaking the material. She turned the stove down low, and went out of the back door to the garden.

  “What have you done?” she demanded.

  “It wasn’t us!” Luke whined immediately. “It was like that when we came out here.”

  She took a closer look at the towels. Realised with horror that the brown streaks were moving. Spiders. The laundry was covered in thousands upon thousands of tiny spiders. She recoiled in disgust.

  “Oh, God! Don’t touch them!” she warned the boys.

  Luke ignored her completely, leaned forwards to inspect and poke the writhing mass.

  “Ew! There’s like thousands of them!” His face blanched and he ran off in to the house.

  “What are you going to do, Mum?” Michael asked her.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe if we take them off the line and put them on the grass, they’ll all crawl off?”

  “I don’t want to touch them,” he replied, with a shudder. He added quickly, “I’m not scared of them, I just don’t like them.”

  “Maybe we could hose them off, or something?”

  “Will that kill them?”

  “No. Well. Possibly. I don’t know. Let’s just leave them for now, maybe there will be less later on, and your dad can help me get rid of them.”

  “You know Dad, he’ll be all for just burning them,” Michael said with a grin. “Take off and nuke from orbit.”

  She laughed and gave a slight nod of agreement.

  “Yeah. He might be right.”

  Robert didn’t get home until almost eight o’clock that night, thanks to a combination of an overdue project and a bus which never turned up. He picked at leftover meatballs and sauce, heated up in the microwave. Maureen sensed that his head was somewhere else, and didn’t want to add to his stresses. She decided not to bother telling him about their neighbour’s strange behaviour or the spider-covered towels that evening. She’d left them hanging on the washing line, content to leave them overnight. She curled up next to Robert on the sofa, watched the television, and tried to relax.

  It played on her mind, though, and her worries followed her in to her dreams.

  She slept through her alarm the following day, awaking almost an hour later than she usually did, still tired from tossing and turning all night. She could hear Robert and the boys in the kitchen, wondered why they hadn’t seen fit to wake her. She wrapped her dressing gown around her shoulders and wandered barefoot through the hall.

  Robert looked up from stirring scrambled eggs at the stove as she entered the kitchen.

  “Hey, babe. Coffee?”

  She nodded, and he moved from the egg pan to spooning grounds into the espresso machine.

  “How come nobody woke me up?” she asked, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

  “You looked peaceful, and it’s the weekend. Figured you could do with a bit more sleep.”

  He added brown sugar to the coffee and passed it to her as she sat down at the breakfast bar. Luke put his head around the door.

  “Hey Dad, have you seen Oscar?”

  “I let him out into the garden earlier, mate. Why?”

  “It’s just, I can hear him, but I can’t find him.”

  Maureen paused and sat quietly, listening. Luke was right. She could hear the dog whimpering very faintly. It sounded like he was shut in somewhere.

  “I don’t remember letting him back inside, Luke. Unless your brother did?” Michael grunted and yelled out from the other room.

  “Nah. I’ve not seen him, Dad.”

  “Well then he must be still outside.” He looked out towards the garden. “I can’t see him. Maybe he’s got underneath the house?”

  Maureen listened. It didn’t seem like the sound was coming from underneath, but it was definitely outside. She stood up and peered out of the window, scanning the garden left and right. Something caught her eye near the side of the house. Something small and brown and soft.

  She ran out of the back door, her dressing gown flapping like a cape behind her. Her bare feet sank into damp grass and dead leaves, leaving gaps in the turf as she ran. She could see the puppy, almost at the top of the beech tree that stood between their garden and Hilary’s. He was dangling from a branch, held up by only his collar, whining feebly.

  She heard the boys and Robert running behind her. Robert yelled at Michael to get the ladder from the garage. Luke was upset, sobbing and calling out to the dog, a snot trail gathering on his lip. He wanted to climb the tree to get to Oscar, but Maureen wouldn’t let him. She grabbed him by the back of his pyjama top to make him stop.

  “Luke, no! Let your Dad get him. He�
��ll be okay.”

  A large cicada flew at her face and she wafted it away. The trees and bushes were alive with the noise of them. There must be hundreds, all making their sawtoothed buzz. High in the tree, surrounding the dog, she saw the leaves ripple as if blown by a breeze, but it was not wind that made such movement, instead, the tree trunk and branches were crawling with the flying insects.

  The dog made choking and coughing noises as his hind legs kicked weakly, trying to connect with the tree. Robert pushed the ladder against the trunk, pushing the lower branches out of the way, and Maureen held the bottom as he climbed. Cicadas fell on her hands and hair but she dare not release her grip.

  She watched as he reached the dog, ducking out of the firing line of its scrabbling claws, and put his hand underneath its belly to support its weight. Oscar stopped choking and began to yowl, as Robert struggled to release its collar. The branch was wedged through so tightly, he could hardly get his fingers to the buckle. Cicadas flew into his face and settled on his skin, like a shimmering, writhing, green mask. He shook his head vigorously to dislodge them. The dog wriggled and twisted. One of his back feet caught Robert on his cheek and he winced. Finally, he managed to break it free, and the collar fell through the leaves to the ground.

  Robert almost stumbled as he took the full weight of Oscar in one hand. Cicadas fell from both of them as he descended the ladder. He held the puppy tightly, pulling the animal close to his chest, even as he put his feet on the grass. He took them both swiftly back to the house, both boys following close behind. Maureen tipped her body forwards, brushed dozens of flying insects and bits of leaf out of her hair.

  She noticed as she passed the rotary drier that the towels now appeared to be spider free. A faint line in the grass, perhaps a centimetre wide, trailed across the garden from the washing line to next door’s fence. As if all the creatures had crawled together in that direction.

  She shook her head. What a ridiculous notion.

  Back in the house, she closed the door firmly behind her, so the dog could not escape back outside. Robert sat on the sofa, speaking softly and calmly, gently stroking Oscar’s head while checking for any obvious injuries. The dog settled into his arms, its breathing fast and ragged. Luke went to his side, dried tears mixing with fresh ones on his cheeks.

  “Is Oscar okay, Dad? Is he okay?” He reached out to touch the puppy.

  “I’m not sure, Luke,” Robert replied honestly. “We should take him to the vets just to be sure. I can’t see anything obvious though.”

  Maureen stood off to one side, hugging herself with her hands.

  “How on earth did he even get up there?”

  “He’s a dog, Maureen,” Robert replied, distracted. “He probably just climbed up or something and fell.”

  “But Dad, dogs don’t climb trees,” Luke interjected. “You’ve said tons of times before that’s why they get so frustrated when they chase cats.”

  Robert sighed, aware that his answer wasn’t logical.

  “Well, it’s a new place and a new garden, maybe he just felt like he wanted to explore?”

  “But, Dad…”

  “Stop, Luke! Please. I don’t know how he got up there, and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that we got him down and now we need to check if he’s hurt.”

  Luke fell silent, continued to ruffle his fingers through the dog’s fur. Oscar nuzzled into his hand.

  “There,” said Robert. “He’s happy to see you. That’s probably a good sign. Hopefully he will just have a bit of a shock and a sore throat and he will be fine. We’ll take him down to the vets and get him checked over just in case, okay?” Luke nodded. Maureen reached out and held her youngest son tightly from behind.

  “I’m sure he’ll be okay, Luke,” she told him, as she kissed the top of his head.

  Robert and the boys took the puppy to the vets later that morning. It appeared that he was no worse the wear for his experience; only minor scratches and cuts, and he was eating and drinking normally. The worst thing the vet had found was the body of a dead cicada, nestled deep inside the dog’s ear canal.

  That evening he jumped up on the sofa between Maureen and Robert. It was a thing he would never normally do, knowing he was not allowed. He put his head in Maureen’s lap and stared up at her balefully, wanting her attention. She shared a glance with Robert, who gave a barely perceptible nod, reached over and scratched the dog gently on his stomach.

  The weather was kind the next day, warm sunshine with a gentle breeze. Close to lunchtime, Robert dragged the barbecue out of the garage and set about grilling copious amounts of sausages and chicken wings. The wind blew the smoke and smell of the meat across the length of the garden. Maureen and the boys made potato salad, corn cobs and coleslaw in the kitchen, then took plates and bowls outside. The table and bench were still in boxes, so Maureen laid a beach blanket on the wooden deck and they all stretched out and ate in the afternoon sun. Oscar begged for scraps whenever he wasn’t chasing bumblebees around the garden. The air was still, but not stuffy. Maureen breathed deeply and exhaled, feeling, for the first time in what seemed like a long a while, happy and content.

  The boys took off to the local park after they had finished eating, having arranged to meet some friends from school, and Robert brought a bottle of wine and two glasses out to the garden. He popped the cork and poured. Maureen watched as the liquid swirled. He handed one glass to her and raised his in a toast.

  “To us,” he said. “And to our wonderful new house!” Maureen nodded, lifted her glass in return, and they clinked them gently together.

  “To new beginnings,” she replied. “To the start of change.”

  They sat together in the garden, talking and enjoying each other’s company. Maureen thought how nice it was to be able to stop for a moment, to be still. The house move had been so full-on and demanding, and the changes to Robert’s work had brought much more money, but equally so much more responsibility and expectation. Looking out across the garden, watching the insects buzz and swirl and flutter in the sunshine, she knew that ultimately, it had all been worth it.

  She had drifted into a daydream, feeling the effects of a second glass of wine, when she noticed the cockroaches. A circular patch of them on the grass, almost a metre wide, moving towards the barbecue. She leapt from the blanket, tipping her glass and spilling the remnants of her drink on Robert’s ankles.

  “What the…?” Robert began, before following her gaze.

  The insects roved across the grass and clambered onto the leg of the barbecue. They scaled the length of it, and began to spread themselves across the surface of the grill. Maureen heard their exoskeletons pop and blister as they stayed too long on the hot plates.

  “Jesus Christ!” Robert exclaimed. His face was one of disgust and horror. “Where did these come from?”

  She wasn’t scared, merely repulsed. The wine had made her brave. She kicked the barbecue with her foot. It wobbled and sent a shower of them cascading to the grass. She went to kick it a second time, to knock it over completely, when Robert stopped her.

  “No. Don’t. It’s still connected to the gas.”

  He went around the side of the house to garden shed. Returned with a yard broom. He brushed the creatures away from the grill, spilling them onto the grass. Wherever they fell they seemed to regroup themselves, as if there were some order they were following. They formed a large circle, all heading in the same direction. She watched as the pulsating mass retreated down the the garden, heading towards their neighbour’s fence.

  Robert watched too. Revulsion in his eyes.

  “That’s not normal, right?” he asked her slowly. She shook her head.

  “I don’t think so. I have no idea. I’ve never see that many all together before.”

  “Or do anything like that. It’s like they were working together or sometime. Like they had some sort of goal.”

  They stood in silence for a moment before she began to laugh. Robert stared at her, con
fused, before he began to laugh too.

  “You’re right. Yeah. That’s stupid. Cockroaches don’t have goals!”

  She watched as they marched towards the fence, paused, and then slipped underneath.

  “Do you think we should tell Hilary? I mean, a whole army of cockroaches just walked into her garden.”

  Robert pulled a face.

  “Seriously, Robert. I mean, what if they get in her house or something? There must have been hundreds of them. Thousands even. She’s old.”

  He sighed and made a small grunting noise.

  “Okay. I’ll go round.” He pulled a pair of jandals on his feet and then finished the remains of his wine. He walked towards the side of the house before looking back and shuddering. “That barbecue is going to need a really good clean when I get back.”

  She was about to pour herself another drink when she heard him yell.

  “Bloody hell! Come and have a look at this!” He had disappeared around the side of the house, out of her line of sight. She went to follow him, the wine glass still in her hand.

  The fence was covered in longhorn beetles.

  She had never seen so many. The usually pale brown wood of the fence posts were smothered in the darker brown beetles. They swarmed over the top of the fence and disappeared over the other side.

  Maureen turned to stare at Robert. He stood, mouth agape, watching as the beetles receded. He pointed excitedly.

  “Now that is definitely not normal.”

  “This is so weird. Where do you think they’re all coming from?”

  “I don’t know. They’re building more houses at the top of the hill, maybe they’ve been disturbed?”

  He took the wineglass from her hands. Before she could protest, he used the glass bell to capture one of the insects. Instantly, it made a high-pitched squeaking sound, angry at being caught. She was surprised how clear it was; she knew that they would make a noise when threatened, but she had never heard one so loud. Robert spun it around in the bottom of the glass, made it squeal even more.