"A what?!" she whispered, frowning and shaking her head. This was her typical reaction to virtually everything he did: a frown and shake of her head. "It’s probably just a fly."
Of course you don’t believe me, thought Howard. You never believe me about anything. "Whatever," he said. He could smell the gin on his mother, no surprise there. It sickened him.
Lucy Hawthorne pulled on the belt of her terrycloth robe and then tied her arms in a knot in front of her chest. "What are you doing with my broom?"
As Howard often did when speaking to his mom, he adopted the tone of someone addressing a moron. "Killing a bee."
His mother paused and he knew she was thinking, again, that it was not a bee; it was a fly; obviously he was mistaken; he was always wrong; always, always, always; but then the fire disappeared from her gaze and he realized she was both drunk and tired. Her eyes were so red, Howard was surprised they weren’t bleeding. Her whisper became a hiss, "Well, don’t wake your father!"
"God forbid." Howard breezed past her and returned to his bedroom, closing his door behind him.
It irked him—always always annoyed him—that his door had no lock. His parents wouldn’t allow it.
The bee was still circling around and around above his bed, with a drone that reminded Howard of a model airplane.
He used the broom to swat the bee, smashing it into the ceiling. The insect dropped to the floor, still alive and buzzing. It began to fly and Howie jabbed it with the broom, knocking it back to the floor. He was barefoot, so stomping on it wasn’t an option. From his desk he grabbed a fat Stephen King hardback— The Shining— and pounced on the bee. Dropping to his knees, he swung the book like Moses flinging a stone tablet, and he smashed the bee dead.
He looked at the squished body of the tiny dead thing stuck to his book and grimaced with disgust.
Seeing the squashed honeybee made him sad.
Howard grabbed some Kleenex from the box on his desk to clean the novel. It’s no wonder I had a nightmare about bees, considering how loud that damn thing was buzzing. I must have heard it in my sleep.
He climbed back into bed, beneath his Black Belles poster on the wall, and he turned off the light.
A few minutes later he heard his mother going back to her bedroom.
For someone who’s always worried about me making noise, you’re awfully loud yourself, mom.
Howard’s father was a workaholic.
Howard’s mother was an alcoholic.
Howard hated them both.
Bleakly, he thought, Of all the rooms in the house, the damn bee had to come in here and give me nightmares. It couldn’t go torment the ‘rents, no, no, no. It had to seek me out.
Howard fell asleep with a seventeen-year-old’s certainty that there was absolutely no justice in the world.
******
As usual, when Howard got up the next morning, his father had already left for work and his mother was still in bed.
He dressed in a long-sleeved black cotton shirt and baggy black jeans. He had been wearing a pot-leaf earring lately, just to see if any adults would notice. None had. His hair was long over his ears, though, so a person did need to look close to notice what he had affixed to his earlobe.
Today, he chose a different earring. He had twenty-seven different studs in his little collection. He decided to wear his lightning bolt earring. What he would really like to wear was a bumblebee earring (but he didn’t own one).
Skipping breakfast (as usual), Howie snagged his backpack and left the house at 7:12 in the morning. He walked out to the curb in front of his house to wait for the school bus.
This first week back to school had been hell.
Howard loathed taking the bus.
He despised his parents for not buying him a car.
Generally Howard hitched a ride to school with his best (and only) friend, Terry Wheaton, but Terry was currently in California. The Wheaton family was spending time with an ailing grandmother who was not expected to live.
Howard hated the old woman on principle alone. He had no intention of getting old. Life, he believed, was entirely too depressing to continue for any longer than twenty-five years— thirty, max. He would never become a slave to his career like his father. He would never become a substance abuser like his mother.
As he stood by the street anticipating the school bus, Howard really stood waiting for a bloody, brutal end to his pointless existence.
He wouldn’t have to wait long.
Furious at the world, Howard suddenly heard a buzzing sound.
He looked around, scanning the lawn for a bee, but didn’t see one. The only insect he saw was a butterfly flittering over some clover.
Great. He shook his head, yawning. I’m so tired, now I’m hearing things.
Howard blamed his nightmare last night on not just the bee in his room but also on Terry. He couldn’t exactly explain how it was Terry’s fault, but somehow, it was.
Finally the school bus arrived and Howard slouched aboard.
He had been the oldest student on the bus all week and he hated it. Even though Terry was his only friend, right now he hated Terry with a passion.
Howard’s house was one of the first stops on this bus route so there were only four other students already aboard. At the far back of the bus were Randy Lofton and one of his friends. Randy was a smart-ass sophomore. His big brother, Sean, was in Howard’s senior class.
On the right side of the bus were the Johnson sisters, Candy and Connie.
Howard took the next-to-last seat on the left side.
The school bus hissed, lurched, and then dragged itself along, reminding Howard sadly of his life.
The girls were whispering and Howard could hear Randy talking to his friend Scotty Holmes, but even their voices were subdued.
Everyone seemed barely awake.
Tired, miserable, Howard put his head against the window, closed his eyes, and dozed.
He was vaguely aware of the bus stopping time and again.
He was startled awake (and realized he fell asleep) when he heard Randy say in a loud voice, "No girlfriend, no car, no clue. He’s such a loser."
"Poor baby has to ride the bus since his freakazoid friend is still in California." Randy Lofton and Scotty Holmes had been joined by Chris Rutherford. Even though they were only sixteen, these three all considered themselves He-Man Macho Jocks and they had the buff bodies to back up their belief. They were dumber than dogs but they were as agile as orangutans.
Chris taunted, "They’re both such queers— he and that other hairy freak he hangs out with. I wouldn’t be surprised if his butt buddy just stayed out there in California."
Howard wondered if these dimwits planned this routine while he was dozing. He knew he shouldn’t let them upset him but he hated the way they wound each other up.
Scotty sounded stupid when he feigned surprise, "I never thought of that. You know how one fag can sniff out another."
Randy offered his version of an Amen, "Mm-hmm."
"Wouldn’t it be terrible if that homo found his way to San Francisco and never came back?"
Randy’s voice was thick with sarcasm, "Oh, yeah. That would be awful."
In an instant, Howard went from being angry to being completely enraged. He thought he was mad because these ignorant, bigoted, stupid jerks were— once again— saying he and Terry were gay and they weren’t. A deeper truth was he was simply furious at Terry for not being here with his car to spare Howard all these indignations.
Brains buzzing, Howie turned around in his seat. Without thinking for an instant about what he was doing, he spat at Randy Lofton.
Instead of spittle, what sprang from his mouth was a living, buzzing bumblebee.
Time slowed down, stretching an instant into an indelible moment.
A girl— Lisa Orebaugh— was looking right at Howie as the honeybee was launched. Her jaw fell so far open, Howard could almost see her tonsils. Scotty Holmes was in the middle of a good laugh
and made a choking sound when he saw the bee.
Randy didn’t have time to react until after he’d already been hit squarely in the face by the furry, furious fuzz-ball.
"Ow!" Randy shrieked, swatting at the bee that had already flown. "That HURT!" He let loose a string of profanities that attracted the attention of everyone on the bus, including the driver, who roared, "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON BACK THERE?"
Scotty was looking at Howard like he was a monster. "Did you see that?" He turned to his friends. "Did you see that?"
Clearly, many did see. Everyone’s eyes were certainly wide enough.
"EEEEK!" shrieked the Johnson sisters as the bee swooped by them.
Howard felt more protective of the bee than the girls.
Randy’s curses became more threatening. The only thing he said that wasn’t vulgar was, "I don’t know how you did that but when I tell my brother—!"
"Yeah, yeah," said Howard, getting up from his seat. "He’s going to kick my ass."
The bus driver was pulling over and that suited Howard just fine. He just decided to skip school today.
Seeing the bee, the bus driver pulled on the crank that opened the front door.
As the long yellow vehicle grinded to a stop, Howard rushed forward, down the steps, and off the bus.
The driver shouted, "Where the hell do you think you’re going?"
Howie shouted back, "Home!" as he dashed off down the street in the opposite direction of his house.
The bumblebee followed the teenage boy.
******
Howard wandered aimlessly, cutting across peoples’ lawns, unconsciously avoiding alleys in favor of grassy areas.
He was at war within himself. Part of him knew he just spat a bee at Randy Lofton. Another part of him insisted that was impossible.
He stopped, laughed nervously, and then spat. He was relieved to see saliva fly from his mouth, even though there wasn’t much (his mouth was very dry.)
Get a grip, Hawthorne! Of course you didn’t spit up a bee!
He knew he did. His memory of that moment was crystal clear.
A smile flashed momentarily on his face when he remembered Randy Lofton screaming in pain.
Howard started walking again, wandering through peoples’ backyards. Lost in thought, he wasn’t even aware of the growing buzz behind him.
Then, without warning, he heard it. Howard stopped dead in his tracks and turned around.
The number of bees following him didn’t exactly constitute a swarm but there were at least three or four dozen of the little buzzers swooping through the air. None of the bees were near the ground either, where he’d expect them to be. They were all flying high.
Remembering his nightmare, Howard couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
He began to run, thinking immediately, They’re following me!
Panting already, he told himself, "That’s crazy."
Crazy like the notion you spat a bee at Randy Lofton?
"Yeah," he said, wincing. "Crazy like that."
He ran faster.
He tired quickly.
He passed a house with two Pomeranians in a fenced-in yard. The little dogs barked furiously, running along the fence, chasing him.
When their yapping finally faded behind him, Howard realized he couldn’t hear the buzzing anymore.
He stopped running and tried to catch his breath, looking back the way he just came.
The swarm was upon him in an instant, dropping from the sky, the buzzing suddenly loud. This wasn’t like before: a loose gathering of a few dozen bees. This was a true and honest swarm, thousands of insects all crowded together in a titanic swirl.
For the first and only time in his life, Howard Hawthorne screamed.
The clatter of the swarm was terrifying, as loud as a chorus of chainsaws. Closing his eyes, he cringed, ducking, expecting terrible pain as they stung him . . . and yet . . . it didn’t happen. He wasn’t hurt.
Surprised, Howard opened his eyes.
The bees circled him, rising and falling, flying counter-clockwise in a roiling eddy. He winced and ducked, and then slowly straightened up, thrilled and flabbergasted. He realized, They aren’t even touching me!
Howie laughed aloud.
He raised his open hands, extending them as far as he could, standing like Jesus Christ on a cross of bees. Now, in addition to the bees flying in horizontal orbits around his body, smaller vertical circles swarmed around both his arms.
Howie laughed again.
He slowly lowered his outstretched hands. The bees attending his arms returned to circumnavigating his body.
Spontaneously, he said, "Shoo."
The swarm evaporated. Thousands of bees ceased their synchronized flying and become individuals again, each peeling off in a different direction. It was like watching dark smoke being blown apart by a clean, strong wind.
Howard slowly turned in a circle, watching the bees scatter.
In a matter of seconds, the swarm was gone.
The silence following the hum was deafening.
He couldn’t stop grinning.
He felt good. He felt energized.
He wondered what he should do. He couldn’t go home, not with his mother there.
He decided to go to the park. He liked, very much, the idea of spending the day outside (and failed to recognize how out of character that was for him.)
As he cut across more lawns, he looked back and saw he had again established a following of plump female worker bees.
A strange calmness slowed his frantic heartbeat as he realized he knew things about bees he shouldn’t know, things he didn’t know before today. For instance, he knew there were three kinds of bees— workers, drones, and queens— and the bee he spat at Randy Lofton was a worker. The drones couldn’t sting; their only function was to mate with the queen. He also knew, There’s a single queen bee in every hive.
Most surprising, he somehow knew the worker bee that stung Randy should have done so at the expense of her own life. The typical honeybee’s stinger was barbed. When she stung something, the barb caught like a hook and when the honeybee pulled away, she tore out her own abdomen, resulting in her own death.
The bees following Howard, however, were different. They had evolved straight stingers, like wasps. These new, fatter, meaner honeybees could sting over and over, with no threat to their own existence.
Realizing the bee that stung Randy Lofton was still alive, Howard smiled.
When he arrived at Maplewood Park, he muttered, "I’m tired." He yawned. I could easily fall asleep.
He wandered deep into the park, far beyond the swing sets and picnic tables. Near a path leading into a copse of trees, Howard found a place in the shade, where the grass was especially thick.
He lay down on the warm Earth and immediately fell asleep . . . hearing the soothing wondrous hum of gathering bees.
******
When he awoke hours later, he was lying on his back in the grass and there was a bee on his nose. His eyes were still closed but he knew it wasn’t a fly or some other insect. It was a bee.
Howard tasted honey on his lips. He smiled, liking the sweetness.
There was a strange zipping sound as the bee flitted off his nose, the buzz disappearing as surely as if it were swallowed.
Howard’s fingers were sticky.
He opened his eyes and sat up.
Now that he’d slept, the teenager felt entirely different about his situation.
He realized, I’m not human any more. As great as that revelation was, he had an even greater one: he realized he no longer wanted to be human.
A grin gathered darkly on his face and slowly spread.
Howard glanced at his digital watch and he was stymied to see it was almost 3:30 in the afternoon. I slept the whole day away! School let out fifteen minutes ago.
He knew that after what happened on the bus this morning everyone at school would be talking about him. He also knew Randy’s threat wasn’t
an idle one. Randy would involve Sean.
Sean Lofton’s best friend was Jason Mercuriadis, a bully who had terrorized both Howard and Terry on several occasions. Last year, someone wrote obscenities on Terry’s locker with a magic marker, after filling it with trash. Nobody ever proved who did that but Howard was certain it was Jason.
Howard knew Sean and Jason would probably be looking for him. He decided to go looking for them and hiked off in the direction of the high school.
He walked several blocks before the confrontation happened, giving everybody what they wanted.
Howie heard the screech of tires as a car pulled up behind him, followed by slamming doors.
Howard stopped dead in his tracks, standing stock-still as the Enemy approached from behind.
"What did you do to my little brother, douche bag?" Sean Lofton sounded furious.
Without saying a word, Howard tried to move on.
“Don’t you walk away from me!”
Sean, of course, wasn’t alone. Here was good ole Jason Mercuriadis, exactly as Howard expected. The two of them jumped in front of Howard, cutting him off.
Mike Keller and Danny Pescucci were also here. These four lunkheads were all on the football team together.
Normally, if Howard was faced with these testosterone junkies, he would be cringing with fear.
Today, however, he knew they were the ones who were in trouble.
Sean gave Howard a violent push, causing him to backpedal and nearly fall. "I said: what did you do to my little brother?"
There’s nothing "little" about your brother, jerkwad, was Howard’s first thought. His second thought was, You’d never believe me if I told you. And then he surprised himself by telling Sean the truth, "I spat a bee at him."
Whatever the four jocks expected to hear, it wasn’t this.
Jason called Howard a, "Smart ass."
Wesley asked, "What do you think you are— some kind of lame-ass magician?"
Howard was focused on Sean. As much as he hated Jason, he knew Sean was the bigger threat.
Sean’s nose was an inch away from Howard’s as he shouted, "My brother’s eye is swollen shut! His whole face is swollen! You could have put his eye out with your geeky little trick! Did you ever think of THAT?" Sean slammed Howie’s shoulder.
Fishing in Brains for an Eye with Teeth (Thirteen Tales of Terror) Page 12
