by V. Castro
In the mirror, she could see a silhouette that wasn’t there before behind the shower curtain. The curtain bulged; it was real. The silhouette became a solid body moving towards her. Piles of insects crawled from inside the bathtub, filling the room with their noise, and blanketed the floor. They surrounded her feet like an army overtaking an enemy. Janice tried to scream again, but no sound dared to exit her body as the shower curtain was nearly fully extended. She snapped her eyes shut. I rebuke you in the name of Jesus! she cried out in her mind. As if a spell had been broken, she breathed in and out through her nose.
When the chittering of insects stopped, she opened her eyes again. Everything was as it was before, except a note had been scrawled in blood on the mirror.
Jesus can’t save you from me. I want to feed on your soul.
The fear of God and the Devil replaced Janice’s exhaustion.
Without telling Tanya, Janice made up her mind to go to the police. She would also tell her husband she was sleeping with the new preacher pretty much ever since he arrived in town. After her third miscarriage, she’d sought spiritual guidance to rid herself of the bitterness and depression clouding her days. This new pastor had a way of looking at her like she mattered. The thoughts his touch gave her were anything but pious. She and the pastor had more in common than she had with Jay, at least now. They were so young when they’d decided to become a couple. After her third meeting with Pastor Rich she kissed him on an impulse as they held hands in prayer. His lips were impossible to ignore in the middle of asking for the Holy Spirit. Without hesitation he kissed her back, followed by passionate sex in the storage room.
Before the confession of her adultery, she would lay flowers at the ceiba tree and apologize, beg for forgiveness, because Milagros was still here reaping her revenge. Janice believed Milagros deserved to punish them, yet maybe Milagros would be forgiving. After all, Janice felt she didn’t know what she was doing that night. Yes, she should have done more to stop the torture, but she was slightly drunk. Not that being drunk was an excuse, or hating the workers who worked for less than white folks was any reason to let someone die the way that young woman did. And when she examined her heart, she knew Milagros would die if she didn’t intervene. Janice had to pay for thinking of her own skin before Milagros, who didn’t deserve this horror in the slightest. Janice promised God, if he saved her from whatever was happening, she would be a better person no matter the consequences. In small towns like Alice, your penance was the shame felt as you walked past hushed voices recounting your sins.
* * *
Janice trudged to the tree at midday to prevent frightening herself, despite a daggered fear inside her bowels since the moment she opened her eyes in bed. Every death so far had occurred in the dark, so surely she was safe. The closer she came to the tree, the louder the insects got. Just like the night before in her bathroom. She stopped in the middle of the field, thinking perhaps she should run back home and hatch a plan to leave Alice, maybe even her husband, but there was nowhere to hide from this crime. She took a step forward and willed herself to keep moving until she reached the tree. She kneeled in front of the thick base to pray with a bouquet of the best roses from her garden.
With eyes closed, she prayed, “Milagros, I want to say I’m sorry and ask your forgiveness. I asked God for forgiveness, too. I promise to tell the police everything. I accept any punishment they see fit. Please spare me. Help me to be a better—” Mid-sentence, a sharp stab punctured her thigh. Then she heard the unmistakable sound of a rattle. She looked to her left to see a coiled rattlesnake watch her sway from the venom spreading from the bite to the rest of her body. She collapsed to the ground as it continued to shake its tail. It did not get any closer or strike again. It simply watched her cry. She turned her head towards the tree at the humming of the cicadas that infested her ears, vowing to never leave her alone.
“I said I was sorry! Why? Please! I think I might finally be pregnant!”
This wasn’t a lie to garner sympathy. She still hadn’t bled that month, and if she was with child, she didn’t know who the father was. It was wrong, but she secretly wanted it to be Rich, the pastor who filled her with desire and blossoming love. Janice could feel her eyelids open and close like paper fans, her strength draining as the poison spread through her veins. She managed to raise herself to her hands and knees to crawl towards the fields, where she could be seen by the workers picking what was left of the cotton. Her chest tightened faster than she thought it would. Were snake bites that potent? Milagros must not have accepted her forgiveness and God didn’t care; or he was giving her the Old Testament treatment of wrath for all her wickedness. With vision tunneling and all her will gone, she fell into a pile of soft white cotton, feeling her heart slow with every breath. She died to the hymn of cicadas chanting, “La Reina de Las Chicharras”, and the workers calling for help in Spanish. The blue sky darkened as she wondered what hell would be like.
* * *
Tanya was now the only one left. Her guilt had become a coiled viper inside her belly, continually nipping at her day and night. The poison kept her vigilant. She paced around the house in a foul mood, scarcely speaking or eating and refusing to leave the house, claiming she was too filled with grief from losing her childhood friends to do anything. Not true. Tanya was afraid she would be next. For the first time, she felt afraid of her own reflection. The small noises of creaking floorboards and mice caused her to jump. She stopped peeling back the curtains to spy on the outside world. It was nothing but rot creeping over the abandoned farm and increasing numbers of cicadas claiming every spare inch on the exterior of the home. The racket was deafening.
Billy acted oblivious to it all. He focused on keeping his aunt and uncle in business, which meant he was only home when he had to be, but they wouldn’t miss the funeral even if he had to drag her there by the ponytail. It would look bad. If things turned way south, he wanted to make a play to take over the farm for himself, and Tanya of course. This tragedy was one big inconvenience, but it could be the stroke of luck he needed to be the boss instead of the hand. There would be no one to keep him in check or tell him how to run things. Billy had ideas, so many grand ideas.
Tanya looked out the kitchen window only when Betty grew tired of the darkness in the house. The gross winged creatures would be there, beating against the glass. This churned her anger. The noise they made was an irritating reminder of that bitch. That bitch and all her kind.
“That damn Bracero program in ’42. The whole of Texas, then the entire country will go to hell, just watch,” Daddy would boom as he pulled off his worn work boots with calloused hands. Tanya missed Daddy. He would have known what to do. He might even still be here if he hadn’t lost his job because of all the other workers piling in from all over but local. They said it was a heart attack. Daddy died working himself to an early grave because he had to. Thinking of her family’s past plight made her rage inside. She relived the moment she dumped the bucket of ants on that bitch’s head and felt good about it. She had no regrets. Tanya slammed her palm against the window to disturb the insects. Their wings and chittering continued more frenetically than before, ignoring her presence. She closed the drapes forcefully and walked away seething. Betty watched on like a phantom, not bothering to open them again.
* * *
The farm continued in restless disorganization. Many of the workers had already left for more fruitful pastures, leaving the remnants of viable crop going to the insects or decay. New workers refused to join, fearing whatever was cursing the farm would follow them. They’d heard about the murdered woman and the farm’s slow demise. This was an old-fashioned curse. “Santa Muerte? How else can it be explained?” some whispered. Milagros had a new name, La Reina de Las Chicharras, because of the unusual chicharra activity on the farm. No one knew who uttered the name first, but it was in the world now as a whisper; it was those yellow eyes you think you see in the brus
h at night. Before you have a second look, they’re gone. Whispers.
The workers sat by fires. “I’m telling you I saw her. Like La Lechuza, in the tree,” a young boy said in a strained voice, higher pitched than usual.
A woman nursing a baby, patted its back softly. “I heard she wears a red bandana covering the bottom of her face like a bandita, big men’s boots, and her blouse is stained black with dried blood from her wounded neck.”
A man strummed on his guitar. “Yes, there she sits. Following you with her eyes and swinging her legs from the branches, judging your heart. Wasps nests in her hair and cicada shells cling to her skin. If you wear a hat, remove it out of respect. She deserves it.” They all crossed themselves and nodded before the crackling heat of the fire.
The gringos put it down to heathen superstition; they were always looking for a way to get out of work. But it was all too much of a coincidence for the ones who knew better. The farm would soon be dead and those who earned their livelihood would have to move on. Billy’s Uncle Ray stayed mostly in his large mansion taking inventory of all the things they could sell, but there was talk of him having to sell the farm itself to settle his mounting debts. His wife, too ashamed to be seen around town or at church, never left the house or took visitors anymore. Ray turned everyone away because as much as they offered thoughts and prayers for his loss, not a single thought or prayer would change the reality of the situation. “We appreciate your concern, but now is not a good time. Go on and pray for us.” He closed the door, half the weight he was before, with his belt cinching his jeans tighter by the week. His round, rosy cheeks now hung as loose jowls covered in white and red stubble. If there were more money, he would have drunk whiskey from morning to night. He swallowed his pride with a glass of water that left a metallic taste in his mouth, before sitting down to write to his sister to expect them in California. They would only come with the clothes on their backs and start fresh.
* * *
On the day of Janice’s funeral, Tanya stood next to Billy but felt alone. His hand held hers without any weight or affection. Black dresses and suits hung slack on bodies, tears and sweat patted with white handkerchiefs, hushed talk of how young she was, followed by a potluck at the church afterwards. Tanya was sick of this. Myrna’s gloopy macaroni and cheese stuck to the roof of her mouth. She might have been eating spoonfuls of glue and paper. She forced herself to cry, thinking about the uncertainty of her young life whenever someone offered condolences. She couldn’t care less about her dead friend. Perhaps all of this was a good thing, but not the way Billy imagined it. They could move on, maybe into a city and have a whole different existence. Tanya was weary of dusty farm life with strangers crawling around like silverfish. Dallas or Houston could be exciting. Billy could get a job with an oil company. They would be better off without the farm and the people who held them back. There were too many small-town girls willing to give it up to Billy and his beautiful blue eyes. She’d lost count how many times he had cheated on her, but marriage was forever. They said their vows before God, and she meant to keep those vows. Tanya would broach the subject with Billy on the drive home and maybe sweeten him up with a blow job on the side of the road. No one else knew him the way she did.
The road back home was empty. Dust danced in the headlights like ghosts looking for a body to inhabit. Soft country music played on the radio. Tanya was ready to make her big speech followed by roadside sex.
“Baby, I’m sick of funerals and I’m sick of Alice. Let’s get out of here while we can.”
Billy stared at the road, not knowing if he loved or hated the woman who sat next to him. It changed day to day. But what else was he supposed to do when she claimed she was pregnant three years ago? Turned out she lost it. He did the right thing even if it wasn’t the thing he wanted. But what other woman would love him so much to turn a blind eye to his playing away? She knew who was boss.
“I’m close to having all that land to myself. I told you my plan already. Why would I want to give that all up to start over again as a grunt? No thank you. You’ll make new friends. Why don’t you have a baby? That’ll keep you busy. I have to put my foot down on this one.”
She opened her mouth to tell him she wasn’t ready for a baby. Then it started as one insect on the windshield, followed by another. Billy turned on his windshield wipers to scare them away, but soon they were perching themselves on the wipers until the rubber blades could no longer move. The little bodies covered the headlights until the road went black.
“Fuck! What is this weird shit? I’m gonna have to get them off myself now.”
As Billy yanked the steering wheel to the right, a bus slammed into the back of the truck. Both Tanya and Billy flew through the windshield in an explosion of glass and mangled metal. The bus screeched to a halt to radio in for help, but it was too late. Billy was pronounced dead on the scene as a headless corpse. However, Tanya clung to life. They rushed her to a local hospital, then transferred her to a larger hospital for specialized treatment in Houston. She managed to leave the farm after all.
* * *
Tanya opened her eyes for the first time since the accident in a hospital room that smelled of bleach, with bright light falling through the window. Her mother leaned over the bed in prayer, her mouth pencil thin and hair in a tight bun. In this sunlight she looked like a ghoulish scarecrow with her eyelashes, eyebrows and hair the same pale shade of straw. Her eyes scanned Tanya’s body, her hands hovering above as if they had the power to resurrect it. “Thank Jesus you’re awake.”
Tanya readied her voice to speak but found she could not. She tried to move her arms, legs and neck without success. With only the ability to see and hear, she was trapped in her own body. Her mother must have sensed the worry in her eyes because, instead of praying, she averted her gaze to the other side of the room. Tanya wondered if she could still make facial expressions. The last thing she remembered was the cicadas flying out of the wreckage and into the air, their shadows from the lights of the bus making them appear as large as vultures. Tanya couldn’t feel much of anything, but she could sense tears falling from the corners of her eyes.
“We’re gonna pray for a miracle. The doctor says you broke your spinal column and things don’t look exactly positive at this moment, but we put our faith in a higher medicine. The only medicine we need.” Her mother’s pity filled Tanya with vitriol. Stupid woman and all her faith in something that wasn’t real. Nobody was going to save her. A black fluttering spot disrupted the light coming through her window. It was a cicada. Tanya knew this would be the last time she would see her mother again, never to walk or talk. She was coming for her. Tanya knew she would be held in a prison of her own making before being consumed.
After her mother left for the day, the nurses came in to check the catheter and give her a sponge bath. Tanya was ready to die after a day of lying on her back with only the ability to control her eyes. Never again would she have the pleasure of tasting food, drinking beer, making love, laughing out loud. Her dreams had been snatched away from her in a moment, a moment she had no control over. This was not how she wanted to live. She was only twenty-two years old.
Cicadas had been gathered on the window since noon; it wouldn’t be long now. Death would come and this purgatory would be over. Tanya believed there was nothing after you die or anything beyond the bounds of the earth, just nothing. It could all be flat for all she knew or cared.
She stared at the dark ceiling, waiting for the ghost of the murdered Mexican woman to claim her revenge. Instead it was just the song of the cicadas chanting, “La Reina de Las Chicharras”, over and over. When she closed her eyes to sleep, all she could see was Milagros breaking loose from the tree. Insects of all variety poured from her eyes and mouth, crawling from beneath her clothing. Tanya could physically feel her throat tighten and her heart beat erratically as Milagros slowly moved closer, one steady foot in front of the other, expandi
ng time. In Tanya’s vision it was she tied to that tree. Their hate was mutual, but now Tanya writhed powerlessly beneath the ropes. Tanya imagined herself being feasted upon by each little creature that detached itself from Milagros. Skin cell by skin cell they would flay her to the bone. Milagros watched in boiling contempt through the one eye that remained open.
* * *
It was morning again. Tanya was stunned to be still alive in her sack of skin. She couldn’t remember when she dozed off the night before as she waited to be set free. Her eyes darted to the window, which appeared clear, without a trace of the cicadas. The creak of the door and voice of the nurse made her jump inside.
“Good morning, Tanya. Looks like another beautiful day!”
The cheerful nurse strode to the window and fully opened the curtains to a blinding sun. Tanya groaned mentally. The hospital routine was the same as the previous day, except a doctor came to inform her Billy was dead. Lucky him. It was strange she felt nothing hearing this news. If anything, there was a relief there would be one less person to envy. She hated the thought of him with anyone else while she could do nothing about it. It was better this way.
When the nurse left her to fall asleep, she thought she could feel her lips moving. By some miracle her mouth parted a few centimeters. She was ready to scream until her voice uttered, “La Reina de Las Chicharras.” It danced out of her throat like a mystical chant, as if she were a witch trying to conjure something evil. As she continued to mumble these words, the mirror on the wall opposite her bed caught her eye. There was a figure staring back at her with insects pouring from gaping holes that resembled eyes, a nose and mouth, just like in her visions.
Milagros laughed at her with a shriek that sounded like the cry of a coyote. Tanya imagined herself shrinking. It was at that moment she knew she would be left to live for as long as her heart continued to pump blood. Eventually, her mother stopped visiting, because not only did her daughter lose her body, but also her mind, babbling some Spanish nonsense. What a terrible, awful tragedy for someone so young with so much more life to live.
