by Brian Hodge
The road wound back in along lines of trees that bordered fields outlined by even rows of cotton. Jasper drove slowly and carefully, keeping his engine as quiet as possible. He turned left onto a dirt track and followed the rutted, poorly kept road deeper into the trees. The road grew progressively worse, and it wasn’t long before he found a place to pull the truck in under the overhanging branches and off the road. He parked and popped the top on another beer as he stared off into the darkness across the cotton field.
He could make out the imposing shadow of the impossibly tall shack from where he sat. The odd shape of the building reminded him of a giant outhouse, and he chuckled, downing the beer in quick gulps and reaching for another. Made sense, he reckoned, that a giant roach would end up in a giant outhouse. He wondered why he’d never noticed it before.
When the second beer had been sucked dry, he got out, tossed the can in the back of his truck, and stood, getting his bearings. It was still a good quarter of a mile through the cotton to the shed, but as long as he was quiet, he was sure he could sneak up on the place. He saw Bobby Lee’s truck beside the shed, and there was a dim glow seeping out along the roof line, and near the bottom of the building. Whatever it was Bobby Lee had going on in that place, it was going on now, and Jasper aimed to see it for himself. If Bobby Lee was holding out on him, partying with twins and such, Jasper aimed to be part of that, too. If it was something else … he shivered deep inside.
“Partners,” he muttered to himself, “is partners.”
The moonlight was bright; bathing the back of the shed in cold, white illumination. Though it was unseasonably warm, the closer Jasper came to the back of the building, the colder it grew. By the time he broke free of the cotton and into the area Bobby Lee had raked clear that first day, his teeth were chattering, and he threw his nearly empty beer can off behind him, curling his arms around his chest.
“What the hell,” he said to no one in particular.
Moving quietly, he worked his way around the shed on the left side, hesitating as he drew near the corner. He was walking close to the shed, and where his arm brushed the corrugated metal wall, something rippled over his skin. There was a stench in the air, like rotted vegetation, or some sort of hot mud, but there was no heat. Jasper’s heart danced like a bug on a magnifying glass, and for a moment, with the blood rushing to his head, he thought he’d pass out. Then he steadied himself, regretting instantly the contact with the building this required. The walls vibrated, and the vibration translated to sound in his head. The sound was a drone, as though there were a million mosquitoes humming inside, or the wings of a host of wasps beating against the far side of the wall. Jasper closed his eyes, caught his breath, and in that instant he saw them, clinging to one another, climbing and grasping and bobbing with black-gold-black striped stingers primed, dripping poison.
He opened his eyes with as start and pulled away from the wall.
“Jesus Jumpin’ Jehosephat Christ,” he whispered. Each syllable of the words came out in a separate gasp.
He stood wavering between continuing around the corner and turning to run and never look back, moving on to Virginia, or Maryland, starting over. Then he thought of Bobby Lee. He remembered long lazy afternoons fishing, hard days on his daddy’s farm, Bobby Lee at his side, working until they fell down in the dirt exhausted and then washed it all off with a garden hose to start over and do it again. He couldn’t leave Bobby Lee in there, even if Bobby Lee WANTED to be in there.
“Wish I’d brought some raid,” he muttered, and turned the corner of the shed, moving stealthily toward the sliding door in front.
A sickly greenish glow seeped out through the doorway. It reminded Jasper of the glow-sticks they sold at summer carnivals, or the glow-in-the-dark stars he’d hung on his ceiling as a boy. The droning was louder now, and it covered a wide range of tones - deep and resonant to high-pitched and ear-splitting. Jasper pulled a wad of tissue out of his pocket, hoped it wasn’t too dirty, and wadded rolls of it in each ear, blocking as much of the sound as possible.
He stared at the door, trying to think of a compelling enough reason to turn tail and run, but he couldn’t shake the thought of Bobby Lee, and those crawling, touching, stinging bugs.
“Ah, hell,” he said softly. Before he could change his mind, he stepped inside.
If the air had been cold outside the shed, it was frigid when he stepped in. There were lights, but they were soft, and green, and buried in the corners near the rear of the building. Jasper couldn’t see a thing except the huge, vaguely defined silhouette of the giant wooden cockroach. The greenish glow shimmered around the edges of it like the silver lining on a cloud gone rotten. And that was another thing. The stench was horrible. Every breath had weight, as if he were breathing liquid, or some sort of thick gas, rather than air.
The droning pounded in Jasper’s head, and thinking became difficult. Gritting his teeth, he skirted the side wall of the shed, pulling as far away from the statue on its wood pallet base as possible without coming into contact with the wall to his left. He didn’t want a repeat encounter with the vibration. As he moved through the thick, cloying shadows, he concentrated on an image of Bobby Lee’s smiling face, and whenever that started to fade into the sound, and stink, or threatened to be rattled out of his head by his chattering teeth, he thought about those twins.
It was the longest walk of Jasper’s life. He knew the length and breadth of the shed; he’d bought the damned thing in the garden department at Wal-Mart himself. Sure, the walls were taller than they’d been, and it was a little harder to walk in this air than it had been last time he’d been inside, but it should have been a ten, twelve at the max step journey from the front, to the back, and though he couldn’t string two thoughts together in a line, he knew he should have reached the rear of that building.
The sound and shadows closed in behind him then, and he saw that the glow was concentrated near the rear of the cockroach and down low. He headed in that direction, sweeping his gaze to the right and left, looking for any sign of Bobby Lee, or the twins, or whatever the hell was making that fucking NOISE – but he saw nothing. Nothing but that glow, and as he drew near to it, he felt a scream bubbling up through his chest that he only barely managed to bite off, clamping his lip tightly between his teeth and grinding. He tasted blood, but it didn’t matter. Somehow he knew that the last thing he wanted in this place, at this moment, was to draw attention.
What he saw was a small pile of glowing orbs. They were roughly the shape of a baseball, and there were dozens of them, clinging in a wet, sticky mass and coated in slimy ichor. Among them tiny shapes squirmed and crawled, some flitting a few inches through the air but unable – quite – to break free of the mass, plopping wetly back into the others to crawl and tug at the sticky fluid, trying to break free once more. Jasper stared, mesmerized. It took a few moments to realize that the droning had increased in volume, and that it was moving.
Breaking his gaze free of the crawling mass at his feet, Jasper glanced up sharply. He couldn’t see anything, but he could hear it, and moments later, he felt it as well. The air whirled, driving the image of a tornado like a spike into his brain. He still saw nothing, but his mind formed the images he couldn’t bring into focus, and he knew they were there. He didn’t know if they were mosquitoes, or wasps, hornets, or something - else. It didn’t matter. They were circling, faster and faster, but they were not coming closer. Something else was.
He saw Bobby Lee’s shadowed form step from the shadows, moving slowly and deliberately, as he himself had been moving since stepping into the place, only different. Jasper wanted to turn, run, and be done with it, but he stood his ground. Licking his dry lips, he tried to speak, but the words came out in a rasping whisper.
“Bobby?” he whispered. “Bobby, what...”
Then Bobby was close enough to be seen in the dim, green glow of the orbs, or eggs, or whatever the hell they were, and Jasper nearly fell. His knees, solid and strong a
moment before had taken on the consistency of jelly, and the only thing that kept him from losing a perfectly good six-pack of beer was the thought of those – things – crawling among the scraps and bits and drinking his beer as they fought free … and joined the swarm overhead.
Bobby was awash in tiny bodies. It was impossible to tell what they were, what color, what size, there were too many. They coated him like a second skin, moving and chittering, squirming and lifting tiny antennae and proboscises to search and test, looking for – what?
“Ja...sper” Bobby Lee croaked. He couldn’t speak clearly. When he opened his mouth, they swarmed in and out, only vacating that space slowly, crawling out between his tightly press lips, one after another, and crawling back up over his ears to join the rest.
Jasper wanted to vomit, but he held it. Bobby Lee’s eyes were clear and bright. Maybe too bright, but there was no alarm in them. No panic. The insects, roaches, wasps, whatever they were shimmered over him in waves, but he stood, staring calmly into Jasper’s wondering gaze.
“Wha...” Jasper stopped. He didn’t want to ask a question. He knew Bobby Lee would answer, but he didn’t want to witness the filling and emptying of his friend’s mouth a second time if he could help it. Instead of speaking, he shrugged, backing away a step.
Bobby Lee nodded toward the huge wooden cockroach, and stepped forward, laying a hand across the bottom segment of one huge mandible. Jasper stepped back, but something in Bobby Lee’s expression held him steady.
Without speaking, Bobby Lee reached into his pocket and pulled something free. A moment later, as Bobby Lee flicked his thumb to free the blade, Jasper saw that it was a Buck knife. Without hesitation, Bobby Lee took a slice off the statue. Jasper watched the splinter of wood float to the floor and followed Bobby Lee’s pointing finger to the spot where he’d cut it free.
The wood only coated what lay beneath. It was smooth, as the wood had been smooth, but darker. Bobby Lee gestured for Jasper to step closer, and, not knowing what else to do, unless it was to run, Jasper complied. Bobby grabbed his wrist, and for a moment, that was nearly the end of it. The bugs crawling and shifting and seething over Bobby Lee’s arm reached out feelers and legs, pinchers and proboscises to the new flesh Jasper offered. He tried to yank free, but Bobby Lee held tight. In a moment, it didn’t matter.
As Bobby Lee pressed Jasper’s hand to the cut in the wood, something shot out from within. It was hard and sharp, round and hollow, and it plunged into Jasper’s hand without hesitation. His body spasmed, and he tried to jerk free, but it was too late. He felt his pulse through the palm of his hand, felt whatever it was that had pierced him probing deeper, sucking with incredible force at that small puncture in his hand.
The things that coated Bobby Lee were moving up Jasper’s arm, but he couldn’t spare them any attention. He was trying to scream and unable to free himself of the muscle-contracting spasm of pain long enough to force the air from his lungs.
Then it stopped. Jasper staggered back, grabbing his wounded hand in the other and then releasing it to swat at the bugs, brushing them from his arm, waiting for the bites and stings that never came, and backing away again. Bobby Lee looked as if he would speak again, despite the danger of the insects swarming his throat, but at that moment, Jasper struck his back on the wall, pressing tightly into the metal and it’s constant, droning vibration, and the need for speech was erased.
Thoughts flowed in a steady progression through Jasper’s mind. He saw things, strange, impossible things. He saw stars, gleaming in the sky. He saw cylinders of sleek, shining metal, gleaming and shooting at impossible speeds among those stars. He saw explosions of fire and light, like a fourth of July gone mad and he felt the waves of pain as explosions followed the flight.
He saw masses of people and mounds of insects. He saw the giant roach, not solid and carved, but skittering about a mountain slope. He saw stone pillars and a temple, and he saw the people, kneeling, coated in shimmering sheets of exoskeletal motion – kneeling in an ocean of insects.
He saw the swamp, saw the muck and the rising water, moss and scum, the slither of snakes and the great crash of gator tails, and always, over and over, the passing of sun to moon to sun, until, finally, he saw a fishing pole and a red and white bobber, rising and falling in the grip of a soft swell on the surface of a still pool. The line grew taut, and the pole bent. Whatever it was, it was huge, and there were droplets of water running up and down the line … or … not water. The droplets were moving up, not down, and Jasper saw them reach the pole and keep coming . They moved in a solid, lightning fast strike up the line and down the bamboo and onto the hands and arms that waited. Onto Bobby Lee, who stood on the bank, staring stupidly as they invaded his flesh, taking him before he could cast the pole away and dropping him to his knees on the bank of that swampy lake.
Then the statue rose, hung up on Bobby’s line and dripping swamp mud and putrid, rotting vegetation. No way Bobby Lee was pulling it free of that mire - but he was connected to it, and as more and more of the insects, or whatever they were, coated his skin, he rose unsteadily to his feet, shook his head as if freeing it from something, and watched in wonder.
Then the statue was on the bank, no clear view of how this had come to be, only that it was. Bobby Lee was wiping it down with rags, spraying it with some sort of bottled detergent and clearing away every indication that it had ever come within a foot of the swamp. Cleaning and wiping and polishing, he brought it to the sheen that Jasper had first noted, and then, turning, he walked away.
The next image was Bobby Lee’s truck and somehow, impossibly, the statue was in the back. Bobby Lee was covering it with the blue tarpaulin and fastening it carefully to the hooks up and down either side of the truck’s bed.
And then it faded. The connection between Jasper and the metal shed was broken. The images faded, and Jasper turned and walked out of the shed. He didn’t look back. When he was out in the fresh, cool air of the evening, he turned around the corner of the shed and moved toward the parking lot. A moment later he plopped into his old rocker, closed his eyes, laid his head back and sat very, very still. A few moments later he heard the crunch of Bobby Lee’s feet on the walk, and he looked up. There were no bugs. Jasper glanced to the side, but realized too late the cooler wasn’t there. No beer.
“It’s not what you think,” Bobby Lee said softly.
“I don’t think a damn thing,” Jasper replied. “I saw what I saw. Where are they, crawling under you shirt, down your damned pants?”
“They’re in with her,” Bobby Lee said. His voice was still calm. “They never come out of the shed.”
“Not just them, neither,” Jasper shot back. “I know them twins never come out, Bobby. What did it do, suck them inside like it tried to do to me?”
“No,” Bobby Lee said. Then he chuckled.
Jasper snapped his chin from his chest and glared at his friend. “What in HELL are you laughing at? Them girls is gone, and no tellin’ how many others, and you stand there grinnin’ like a damn fool.”
Bobby Lee was actually laughing, and it pissed Jasper off. He rose to his feet and cocked his arm back. “You shut up, Bobby Lee, or giant double-D goddamned cockroach or none, I’m gonna SHUT you up.”
Bobby Lee was still laughing, but he held up his hands in surrender, backing off.
“It ain’t that, Jasper,” he managed to say at last. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with them twins. They’s waitin’ at the Eagle and Anchor back in Hertford for us. You thought she was EATIN’ ‘em?”
Jasper’s arm fell to his side, and he frowned.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked at last. “What do you MEAN they’s waitin’ on us?”
“Just what I said,” Bobby Lee chuckled. “She don’t eat folks, Jasper, she just likes to have us near. Those others, the little ones? They only come out at night. That shed is like her temple, now. You saw the temple.”
“I saw a bunch of naked folks kneelin
g in a lake of bugs, too,” Jasper countered.
“Well, she has a right to feel wanted, don’t she?” Bobby Lee said. He was almost whining. “I mean, she DID bring all them folks in here, just like she said, and she DID help me build that shed, then build ‘er up again. She’s even talkin’ ‘bout havin’ me bring in river rocks and do it right.”
“What do you get for all that,” Jasper asked. “You ain’t been home in a month. I know, cuz I talked to your old lady just yesterday. She isn’t sorry to see you go, but … why?”
“Them twins isn’t the first to stay at the Eagle and Anchor, Jasper. They won’t be the last, neither. Those girls, they’ll be back, too. Ever’ last one of ‘em has felt her touch, and she calls ‘em back. For me.”
Jasper’s mind was reeling. Already he was day-dreaming of those twins, their honey hair and wide eyes. In the background of those dreams, he could see a stone building rising from the cotton to challenge the sky. He could see cars lined up like soldiers in a huge lot, bright neon signs and banners flapping in the wind.
“Waitin’ for us now, you say?” he asked softly.
Bobby Lee nodded. There was a flicker of greenish light around the corner of the produce stand, and then the night went dark. Jasper closed his eyes, and in that darkness he felt antennae flicking in the night breeze, seeking him, yearning for the salt of his seat and the heat of his skin. Seeking communion.
“Thank the lord,” he said at last, turning toward Bobby Lee’s truck and walking away, “for all them cockroach suckers.”
“Amen,” Bobby Lee added, grinning.
Above, the stars shone brightly and Jasper could have sworn, as Bobby Lee pulled out of the parking lot, that the brilliant spots of light re-arranged themselves into a new shape. A constellation he could believe in. Popping the top on the beer Bobby handed him, Jasper saluted the sky, tracing the lines of stars with his graze and grinning.
