by John Saul
Something—some force she couldn’t begin to understand—was inside her now.
A force that had a will far stronger than her own.
The concept sank into her consciousness:
Ever since she’d almost died from the bee stings, there were things she could not talk about, and things she could not do.
She had become a slave to some new force within her that she didn’t understand and was powerless to fight.
And once she accepted that, once she finally gave herself up to that force inside her, she’d been able to move again.
Move, and talk.
And pretend that everything was fine.
Pretend that she wasn’t going crazy.
This morning, when she awoke, the memory of that awful night when she’d found herself in the pasture—the night Otto had died—was once again fresh in her mind.
For a moment—a horrible moment in which she’d felt cold fingers of terror squeezing her heart—she experienced again that awful crawling sensation of millions of tiny red ants creeping over her skin.
The moment passed, and with it the terrible panic that boiled up inside her. She’d gotten up, pulled on her robe, and gone to the bathroom.
She took a shower, brushed her teeth, and combed her hair.
All perfectly normal.
But when she went back to her room to dress, she suddenly felt tired, and sat down on the bed for a minute.
And then, when the smells of the breakfast her mother was cooking had come wafting up the stairs and through her open door, she suddenly realized she was hungry.
Not just hungry—famished.
She’d gotten dressed and gone down to the kitchen, where the rest of the family were already at the table.
Not even bothering to greet Kevin or Molly, she dropped into her chair and started eating.
Eating as she’d never eaten before.
A bowl of oatmeal, with butter, sugar, and cream.
After that, bacon and pancakes.
Pancakes! She hated pancakes! All they did was make you fat, and you never even felt good after you ate them!
“You okay, Julie?” Kevin had asked as she piled the disgusting things onto a plate.
She’d nodded, finished the pancakes, and been about to reach for more when she felt everyone staring at her, watching her pig out!
She’d stopped eating then, even though she still didn’t feel full.
But how could she still be hungry, after all she’d eaten?
After breakfast the peculiar exhaustion she’d felt before the meal came back to her, and it wasn’t long before she was hungry again.
But this time, instead of giving in to the hunger, she retreated to her room, where she lay down on the bed.
What was happening to her? Was she going to turn into one of those girls she’d seen on television, who pigged out all the time, then puked it all up, until finally they starved to death?
Then, when her mother came in and asked if she was all right, she wanted to tell her about it.
But when she’d spoken, only those same awful words—the words she knew weren’t true—came out.
I’m all right … I’m fine.…
But she wasn’t all right! She wasn’t fine!
She was terrified.
She was terrified, and she felt like she was losing control of herself, and most of the time the stinging itch within was so bad that she wanted to jump out of her own skin!
She wanted to roll over and bury her face in the pillow, wanted to sob with the fear and frustration of it.
But instead, driven by some strange force deep within her, she got up from the bed, went to her dresser, and picked up her hairbrush.
Staring at her image in the mirror, she brushed her hair until it shone.
And by the time she went downstairs to help her mother with lunch, she looked exactly as she had told her mother she felt. Indeed, as she went into the kitchen, her mother smiled her approval. “Well, you certainly look much better than you did a few minutes ago,” she said. “Ready for lunch?”
Julie nodded.
She was afraid to actually speak, for she no longer knew what words might come out of her mouth.
“Karen?” the voice at the other end of the telephone line said. “It’s Marge Larkin—Jeff’s mother?”
Karen cradled the phone against her shoulder as she put the final touches on the potato salad she was serving with the sliced ham that was already on the table. “Hello! I keep meaning to call and have you and the kids come up for supper some night, but—well, ever since the wedding it’s been hectic, and now with Otto’s passing on …” Her voice trailed off.
Marge Larkin clucked sympathetically, though she’d never really liked Otto Owen. In fact, she’d thought he was a cantankerous son of a bitch, but it certainly wouldn’t do to mention that right now. “Well, you can put off inviting us for another day as far as I’m concerned,” she said. “I’ve got a tooth that’s gone bad on me, and I’ve got to go over to San Luis Obispo to the dentist. Jeff promised to help Vic Costas out all afternoon, and I was wondering if maybe Julie might want to pick up some money baby-sitting Ben.”
Karen was about to suggest that Marge Larkin bring her little boy—whom Karen had seen playing by himself several times in the dusty yard in front of Vic Costas’s tenant house—over to the Owen farm where he could spend the afternoon playing with Molly, when she suddenly changed her mind. Much better for Julie to get out of the house for a little while, earn some money, and feel as though she were doing something on her own. “Hold on—I’ll let you talk to Julie.”
While Marge explained the situation to Julie, Karen put the salad on the table, then went to ring the old-fashioned triangle that hung just outside the back door. Kevin and Russell, though, were already crossing the yard, and as Kevin headed back to the laundry room behind the kitchen to wash up, Karen suggested to Russell that perhaps they ought to reconsider the grounding, given the circumstances.
Before Russell had a chance to reply, Julie appeared at the back door. “Mom?” she called. “Can I do it?”
Karen hesitated, then spoke: “As far as I’m concerned, you can, but you’ll have to ask Russell, too.”
For a moment Karen thought Julie might just turn away, giving up the job rather than ask her stepfather for permission. Indeed, as Julie’s eyes shifted to Russell, Karen thought she saw a flash of resentment in them.
“It’s a baby-sitting job,” Julie finally said. “Can I take it, or am I still grounded?”
Karen held her breath, wondering if Russell had heard the note of challenge in Julie’s voice, as if she were daring him to refuse. If he heard it, he gave no sign.
“No more beer?” he asked.
Julie’s jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed slightly, but she shook her head.
“Then I guess it’s okay,” Russell decided. As Julie stepped back into the kitchen, he smiled thinly at Karen. “I guess I’d better be glad she asked me, and not demand she be thrilled about it, huh?”
Karen nodded. “We take what we can get.” She sighed. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m hoping maybe if she gets out of here for a while she’ll start coming out of the mood she’s been in ever since Otto died. It’s … well, it’s almost as if she blames herself.”
Russell frowned. “But she didn’t have anything to do with it!”
“I know that, and you know that, but I’m not sure Julie does. I think she’s still kicking herself over what happened at breakfast that morning.”
“Maybe I’d better have a talk with her.”
Karen stretched up and kissed her husband on the cheek. “Thanks, but I don’t think it’ll work. If she won’t talk to me about it, she sure won’t talk to you. The best thing we can do is just try to get back to some kind of normal life.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Ben Larkin demanded, turning away from the television screen to stare scornfully at Julie. “I thought you said you could do this?”
> “I can,” Julie told him. “Anyway, I always could back at home!”
She dropped the video joystick into Ben’s hands and got up from the sofa, moving restlessly to the window of the Larkins’ little house.
What was wrong? Once again she was feeling that terrible itching deep inside her, making her want to leap out of her skin; a sensation of something building up inside her, on the very edge of exploding.
She shook herself, violently, as if the movement could rid her of the horrible nervousness that made her feel she was going crazy.
“It’s your turn,” Ben said. “I just bombed out.”
“Will you just shut up?” Julie heard herself say. As Ben burst into tears, Julie’s mouth dropped open in shock.
What had made her say that? None of this was Ben’s fault! In fact, for a kid of Molly’s age, he was pretty good. He just wanted to do the things most boys his age liked to do, and Julie had done her best to keep him entertained.
At first it had actually been fun.
They walked down to the creek, peeling off their shoes and socks to go wading in the cool water, and Ben had caught a jar full of tadpoles. Though the little creatures felt slimy in her hands, she’d enjoyed catching them, and for the next hour they’d both been engrossed in fixing up a place for the tadpoles to live while they grew up to be frogs.
Or got eaten by the birds that had already discovered the old wash pan they’d turned into a makeshift pond and put in a shady spot next to the back door. With a layer of sand and muck on the bottom of the pan, and six inches of water on top of that, Ben had been sure the tadpoles would be perfectly happy. Julie suggested they add some rocks and some of the reedy grass that grew in the creek, to give the tadpoles someplace to hide. So they’d trekked back to the creek, brought back the necessary pebbles and vegetation, and so far the tadpoles didn’t seem to miss their normal habitat at all.
But an hour ago Ben had gotten bored with the tadpoles and decided they should play video games.
Ben, it turned out, was a whiz at Nintendo. Julie had always been a proficient player, but today she just couldn’t seem to get the feel of it.
Maybe it was the heat.
It seemed to her the temperature had been rising all afternoon. Now, though she’d opened all the windows, the cramped living room felt like an oven. The plastic upholstery on the sagging sofa had clung to her skin, which was covered with a sticky film of sweat, and just looking at the television screen made her want to scream.
“I’m sorry,” Julie told Ben, going back to the sofa, determined to try the game one more time. “It’s just—I don’t know. It’s just so hot in here, and I feel so sticky. I guess I’m just crabby.”
Mollified, Ben’s wailing sob abated to a sniffle. He looked up at her curiously. “It’s not hot,” he said.
“It is too,” Julie replied. “It feels like it must be a hundred degrees.”
“It’s not either,” Ben protested. He pointed to the thermometer on the wall. “Look! It’s only seventy-five degrees!”
“Well, it feels like a lot more,” Julie said. “How about if we make some lemonade?” That, at least, might not only cool her off a little bit, but ease the gnawing hunger she’d been feeling all day.
“Okay,” Ben replied, his hurt feelings completely forgotten.
Together they went out to the kitchen, and while Ben dug around under the counter for the juicer, Julie began slicing lemons in half. By the time she’d gotten half a dozen cut, Ben had found the juicer, and she began squeezing the juice out of them.
The citrus scent of the fresh fruit filled Julie’s nostrils, and she felt a pang of hunger.
A pang so strong she couldn’t ignore it.
Without thinking, she picked up half a lemon and bit into it.
Ben stared at her, his eyes wide. “What are you doing?” he asked. “You can’t do that! Lemons are too sour to eat!”
Julie shook her head, already reaching for a second lemon. Though she knew the little boy was right, the lemon didn’t taste the least bit sour to her.
Indeed, it tasted almost sweet.
Greedily, she sucked the pulp out of the second lemon half, then reached for a third.
And as the juice trickled down her throat, her hunger only increased.
She went to the refrigerator, opened it and surveyed the shelves.
There was a large bowl. Through its Saran Wrap covering, Julie could see what looked like a piece of leftover pot roast, the grayish meat sitting in a pool of congealed fat and gravy.
She pulled the bowl out of the refrigerator, set it on the counter and pulled off the plastic. Sinking her finger into the bowl, she scooped up a large brown glob of the ice-cold meat drippings and stuck it in her mouth.
Ben stared at her, his own stomach rebelling at the thought of putting that icky mess into his mouth. “Gross!” he groaned.
But Julie was already scooping up more of the slimy ooze, and tearing off pieces of the gristly meat, stuffing them into her mouth as fast as she could, barely chewing them before gulping them down.
“What are you doing?” Ben yelled as the roast began to disappear. “Mom said we weren’t supposed to eat that! She said—”
Julie, though, was deaf to the little boy’s words. Her entire being was focused on satisfying the hunger within her.
She tore off more bits of meat, and dipped her fingers deep into the jellied fat and gravy.
Ben, frightened now by her bizarre behavior, edged toward the back door. “I’m gonna find Jeff,” he said, more to himself than to Julie. And as she continued devouring the roast, he slipped out the back door and ran toward the far field, where he could see Vic Costas’s tractor.
“Look,” Ben said to Jeff twenty minutes later. “Look what she’s doing!” He was pointing through the window into the kitchen, his brother beside him.
Inside, Julie was still standing at the counter. What seemed to be the entire contents of the refrigerator were spread around her, and as Jeff watched, she broke a large chunk off a block of cheddar cheese, shoved it into her mouth, then pushed a wad of bread in after it.
As she chewed the mass in her mouth, her hands tore at the wrapper of some sliced bologna, finally tearing at the plastic with her teeth in her urgency to get past the packaging to the meat inside.
The bowl that had contained pot roast was empty, save for the last few gobs of gravy, which Julie scooped into her mouth as Jeff watched in awed fascination and disgust.
At that moment, she looked up and caught sight of him through the window. For a second Jeff had the eerie sense of having caught a wild animal devouring its prey.
And then she smiled at him.
Smiled at him in a way that excited him.
He remembered, then, how she’d gone off with Kevin the other night, and not come back.
Even though Kevin hadn’t told him what happened, Jeff was pretty sure he knew.
After all, Julie was from L.A., and everyone knew what the girls down there were like.
And now she was smiling at him.
“Go over to Mr. Costas’s house,” he told Ben.
“Why?” the little boy demanded. “What are you going to do? I want to watch.”
“Well, you’re not going to,” Jeff told him. “Just go over to Mr. Costas’s and wait for me there.”
Ben started to object, then saw the look in his brother’s eye. The look that told him he’d better do as Jeff said. “It’s not fair,” he complained. “I was the one who—”
“Get!” Jeff ordered him, and finally Ben started up the road that led to Vic Costas’s farmhouse, a few hundred yards away. Only when he was sure his brother was going to obey him did Jeff finally go into the kitchen.
“Julie?” he said. “What are you doing?”
Julie, her hunger still strong within her, looked at him but said nothing.
He moved closer and reached out. His fingers touched her skin.
She jerked away, but her eyes remained fixed on hi
m, and now she was licking her lips.
Jeff knew what that meant.
He moved close to her again. “Come on, Julie,” he said, slipping his arms around her. “I know what you want. And there’s no one here but us.” He began nuzzling her neck, his lips nibbling at her skin. She wriggled in his arms, but her movement only excited him more. “You want to go into the bedroom?”
Julie was struggling, trying to get away from him, but Jeff twisted her around, tripping her—whether accidentally or deliberately, she wasn’t quite sure—and she fell to the floor. A second later he was on top of her, pinning her down, and she was looking up at him.
He lowered his head to kiss her, and Julie opened her mouth.
Opened her mouth and exhaled in a great, rasping breath.
And from Julie’s mouth emerged a swirling black cloud, a dark and writhing mist that split instantly into dozens of serpentine tongues as it lashed from Julie’s throat and curled around Jeff Larkin’s head like tentacles, instantly paralyzing him with a horror greater than any he’d experienced before.
It wasn’t just a mist—Jeff knew that even before it engulfed him.
Though the specks were so tiny he couldn’t even make them out as individuals, Jeff knew they were alive, that they were flying together in a swarm the same way termites and ants sometimes rose from the ground by the tens of thousands, borne on wings they would lose within a day.
Almost instantly the mist enveloped Jeff’s head like a dark shroud, and he instinctively drew in his breath to scream out in terror.
He could feel them in his mouth now—millions of them. He was choking as they filled his throat and spread through his lungs.
His scream emerging as no more than a bubbling gurgle, he rolled away from Julie, twitching as he scrabbled across the floor in a futile attempt to escape the swarming mass that now surrounded him.
He caught a glimpse of Julie for a split second, and his gorge rose as he saw a second mass emerge from her open mouth and join the cloud that now totally engulfed him.
They were settling on his skin; suddenly, every square inch of his body felt as if it were on fire.
