Dark Surge

by Gina Ranalli

  Gillian smiled as she pulled into her parking spot and turned off the car’s engine. Men were so easy to play, easier than any cat and mouse game could ever be. She got out of the car and surveyed the area. Not too many cars occupied the apartment complex’s parking lot at this time of day. Everyone had jobs, of course. Everyone but her.

  Yawning, she began to make her way to the stairs leading up to her place, keys in one hand, purse in the other. A small cluster of black flies perched on the white handrail, giving her pause. Gillian stopped moving, though she felt no less drowsy, staring at the flies in fascination. What were they doing? She counted a total of five flies just sitting there, wings twitching.

  Interesting.

  She bent closer, her face mere inches from them, watching their tiny red eyes and knowing they watched her right back. Did they see multiple versions of her face, huge and admiring? She thought she remembered learning at some point that flies had somewhere around two thousand lenses in their eyes. Simply amazing.

  All five flies took flight at the exact same moment. Gillian’s gaze was so intensely focused that she actually saw how the insects did a little leap backwards before soaring forward into the air. She straightened up, only slightly startled and not the least bit alarmed.

  The flies circled her head many times, the circle widening with each pass in front of her face until they moved in a formation that drifted away from her foot by foot.

  Gillian felt enthralled by the display, taking a step to follow the flies as they continued their airborne ballet. Was this normal fly behavior, to swirl with such beauty, moving closer to her one moment and away the next? She had no idea, but knew for certain that the performance was captivating and felt that they were doing it specifically for her.

  Dancing through the day, they led her away from her car and around the back of the building where there was a common yard shared by the many tenants of the apartment complex. The area was small and grassy, with a single weathered picnic table, and bordered on the far side by a stand of tall pines that shielded the yard from the busy street beyond the trees. A path, lighted at night, led up one side of the buildings, around the back by the common yard and down the other side of the complex.

  Gillian was not surprised to find the area abandoned; there were very few children in the complex and those that did live there seldom used the grassy area for any reason. She couldn’t remember anyone sitting at the picnic table, ever. The area was used mostly to show to prospective renters, and the apartments which looked down into the back cost slightly more than those facing the parking lot.

  The flies continued to lead the way, darting back towards her face when she hesitated in the slightest, before spinning off again.

  They’re making sure I follow them.

  The thought did not disturb Gillian, but instead intrigued her. She felt she was experiencing something mystical, something beyond her human comprehension.

  She strolled along the path, watching the space in the air where the flies continued to zip about, until they led her onto the grass, just to the right of the picnic table. All five of the flies simultaneously landed on the ground and when Gillian’s eyes followed their flight pattern and subsequent landing, she found herself gazing down at the remains of a decomposing squirrel.

  The carcass swarmed with flies, while maggots wriggled around inside the rotting flesh.

  Gillian frowned, crouching down to examine the grisly discovery. “Why did you want me to see this?” she murmured, almost expecting the flies to answer. When they didn’t, she reached out her hand and held it still a few inches over the dead animal, palm down. This was another thing she couldn’t explain. It was just an instinct. Was she expecting to feel the squirrel’s soul? Some sort of vibration emanating from either it or the feasting insects?

  As it had in the living room that day, time ceased to have meaning and she felt herself almost separating from her body, her mind blanking out, oblivious of her surroundings except for the flies and their meal.

  Soon, one of the flies flew up from the dead squirrel and landed on the back of Gillian’s hand. Numbly, she wondered if the creature intended to bite her, but it did not. It simply strolled around on her skin, a sensation barely felt until the fly wandered up her wrist to her forearm, tickling the hairs there.

  Remaining still, Gillian let out a soft sigh and then other flies joined their companion in exploring the woman. Some flew into her hair, while others settled on her cheeks, legs and arms. A couple began making their way up her shoulder to her neck, miniscule feet whispering across her flesh like the breath of tiny invisible angels.

  Gillian closed her eyes, allowed herself to experience the sensation through touch alone and gradually became aware of the tingling in her belly and her fingertips. The tingling that signified an undeniable arousal. She sucked air sharply into her lungs and bit her lower lip as one of her new friends made its way up behind her ear where the skin was so tender, so sensitive. It was one of her favorite places for a man to kiss and now she was receiving kisses of a different sort. Kisses more light and feathery than she’d ever imagined possible.

  She didn’t dare open her eyes for fear the sight of the squirrel would spoil the moment. Also, she could tell there were more flies exploring her body and wasn’t sure if seeing how many there really were would be distressing to her. She didn’t think so—in fact, she suspected the opposite might be true—and imagined her body completely covered by the swarming insects.

  The thought was nearly unbearable and she let out a moan. One of the flies had found a way into her blouse, was traveling down into her cleavage and Gillian finally dared to move, bringing the hand that wasn’t held out straight to her left breast, massaging the nipple through the fabric.

  “Oh, God…”

  The heat building between her legs was both thrilling and frustrating. Here she was, outside in the middle of the day. Anyone could round the corner of the building at any moment and see her crouched on the grass tweaking her nipple between a thumb and forefinger, flies buzzing all around and investigating various parts of her. Even worse, at this very moment, someone could be gazing down at her from a window or peering out from behind one of the trees at the back of the property.

  But, Jesus, she was getting so horny…

  The idea made the corners of her mouth twitch in a tiny smile. Were insects actually better at foreplay than men? It certainly seemed true now, judging by her reaction.

  She licked her lips slowly, shifting her position on the grass until she was kneeling. A fly tickled the inside of her ear, teasing a moan from her throat.

  Knowing she should just get up and away from there, she was nonetheless either helpless or unwilling to stop her hand from leaving her breast and creeping down to the waist band of her jeans. She popped the button and slid down the zipper with agonizing slowness, deliberately prolonging the torture. She knew she would come quickly, which was one of her rationales for doing what she was about to do. It would only take a minute. Maybe less. What were the chances that someone would see her in the next minute?

  Her fingers slipped beneath the waistband on her panties, long nails lightly scratching her lower belly until she felt the soft nest of pubic hair that she had neglected to shave for nearly a week now, something unusual for her.

  She immediately felt how wet she was, sliding her middle finger into herself without hesitation. There was no time to waste and evidently, her body agreed. It only took a few strokes and then the orgasm ripped through her body, bending her forward at the waist as she cried out, eyes flying open and settling on the dead and rotting squirrel carcass. Even as her body shuddered, she watched maggots squirm within an empty eye socket, feeding on decomposed flesh.

  Gillian remained in the same position for nearly a minute, reluctant to remove her hand from her pants, enjoying the tingling aftermath, and may have stayed there even longer if not for the fact that all the flies which had been traveling up and down the various parts of her body were
now taking flight. She felt almost a sense of betrayal at their departure, as though she’d been used and then abandoned.

  Maybe they’re not so unlike men after all.

  During the moments leading up to her orgasm and through the orgasm itself, she’d almost forgotten the insects were there. As if they had become part of her. So, she wondered, who was really using who?

  After a while, she slid her hand free and got shakily to her feet, closing her jeans and glancing around nervously. She didn’t see anyone, but as noted before, that didn’t necessarily mean she hadn’t been spotted. What would that hypothetical person think, having seen what she had just done and where she had done it? Had they called the police to report indecent behavior? Or were they excited by the sight of a woman masturbating in public, maybe pleasuring themselves right along with her? Would she be fodder for future jack-off sessions or shivering nightmares?

  It didn’t matter either way. She felt none of the previous grogginess that she’d felt earlier, felt perfectly in control of herself, completely aware of her surroundings and what she had done. How her actions would affect her later, she couldn’t say, but for right now, she was content and perfectly at ease with herself. There was no disgust whatsoever.

  She strode with confidence back around the building, her cheeks rosy, blue eyes twinkling with mirth and satisfaction.

  CHAPTER 18

  Tess was in no mood for her small, windowless campus office. It was too dim and cluttered and lonely for her today. She needed light and people, which was why she decided to drive down to the public library and borrow one of the many computers they had there. She would have preferred to stay at home, but since her home computer was no longer operational, the library was the second best choice.

  It was not quite 11:30 AM when she arrived, carrying her satchel of files and a travel mug of coffee. The library was quiet, as libraries often are, with only a handful of people seated at the long bank of computer terminals. Tess chose the last one, grateful that the neighboring terminal was empty. While she wanted the proverbial company of people, she didn’t feel like engaging in a literal conversation with anyone, no matter how brief or inconsequential.

  She settled in and logged on, prepared to be involved with work throughout the early afternoon until it was time to pick up Emily.

  Twenty minutes later, when a black fly landed on the top of her travel mug, Tess screamed, startling everyone around her. A teenage girl a couple cubicles over leaned out and asked, “Are you okay?”

  Before Tess could reply, one of the librarians had hurried over, placing a hand on Tess’s shoulder while giving the teenager a look of distaste. “Is this girl bothering you?”

  Momentarily confused, Tess gave the librarian a puzzled look. “No…I…there was a fly. It’s gone now.”

  “A fly?” The bird-like woman glared at the girl again, as though it was somehow her fault that a fly happened to be in the library.

  Glancing around warily, Tess said, “Yes. I’m sorry. Just a fly. It startled me, is all.”

  “You thought it was a bee?” the teenage girl asked, smiling, seemingly oblivious to the nasty looks she was receiving from the librarian. “My mom used to scream when she saw a bee.”

  “Another peep out of you and you’re gone,” the librarian told the girl sternly.

  For the first time, the teenager looked up at the woman, her face hardening. “This is a public library.”

  “That may be so, but I have the right to ban anyone I wish. In fact, you’re lucky I haven’t banned you lately. Or called the cops. I could do it too. I’ve done it before.”

  Clearly peeved at the threat, the girl’s cheeks flushed scarlet but she remained silent, turning back to her own computer.

  The older woman touched Tess’s shoulder and bent to speak directly into her ear. “If she gives you any trouble at all, just come find me and we’ll get rid of her. These homeless people are like cockroaches. Almost impossible to get rid of, but we do our best.” She gave Tess a sour smile before wandering away to do whatever it was she’d been doing before Tess had screamed.

  Tess watched the woman go, feeling a bit sour herself.

  What a bitch.

  After staring at her screen for several seconds, she wondered if the girl had heard what the librarian had said about her. Comparing her to a cockroach. Just the idea was enough to set Tess’s blood to simmering. The audacity. How did she even know the kid was homeless? Risking a sideways glance, Tess studied the girl as inconspicuously as possible. The girl wore dirty jeans, sneakers and a denim jacket that had definitely seen better days. But she seemed clean; Tess didn’t notice any wafting odors drifting her way. The girl’s long hair needed a shampoo but nothing too bad, as if maybe she’d skipped washing it that morning.

  “You know what they say about taking a picture,” the girl said without taking her eyes off her own computer screen.

  Tess blanched. “I beg your pardon?”

  “It lasts longer.”

  “Sorry. I…I don’t know. Sorry.” She turned back to her own screen, tucking the chair deeper under the desk, out of view of the girl and vice versa.

  It wasn’t long before she forgot about the girl and became engrossed in her work, the sound of the tapping keys melodic and reassuring. People passed to and fro, though Tess was only aware of them at the periphery of her mind. There was whispering to her right—three voices—but it wasn’t until Tess paused to sip her coffee that she realized it was the homeless kid, another girl and a boy, the latter two standing behind the first girl’s chair and leaning over into her cubicle.

  Another fly—or perhaps the same one—buzzed angrily in Tess’s face. She let out a squeal of fear, then quickly bit down hard on her lower lip to squelch the sound.

  Too late. All three of the kids to her right looked over at her.

  “Flies again?” the first girl asked.

  Tess shook her head, not in denial but in disgust with herself. “I guess I have a bit of a phobia these days.”

  The boy—tall, bald and pierced in many places—laughed. “A fly phobia? That’s a new one.”

  The girl who stood beside him could have been his sister. Though not quite as tall as he was, her head was also shaved and various pieces of silver jewelry glinted from several places in her face. She swatted the boy on his arm and gave Tess an apologetic look.

  “What?” he said. “You’ve heard of a fly phobia?”

  The seated girl with the long hair spoke up. “You should have heard her scream before.”

  Brow furrowed, Tess irrationally felt the need to defend herself. “I’ve been having a bit of a fly problem at my house lately.” She paused, thinking about the flies that came out of the chip bag at school. “Well, more than just my house. The little bastards seem to be following me wherever I go.” She laughed nervously, realizing how absurd she sounded.

  None of the kids returned her smile. The bald girl said, “Maybe they’re familiars.”

  Certain she must have misheard her, Tess said, “I’m sorry?”

  “You know. Familiars.”

  The boy laughed again but the girl with the long hair was looking up at her friend with a kind of wonder that Tess recognized. She often saw the same look on the faces of her students, when she was telling them something they’d never before been aware of. It was a look of awed admiration. It was rare, but it happened.

  Tess said, “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Familiars,” the bald girl explained, “are companions to people. Witches, mostly. Usually, they’re cats or dogs, but sometimes they’re toads or mice or owls. Pretty much anything. Insects. Flies too.”

  Without knowing how to respond to this information, Tess nodded politely, trying to think of a way to dismiss herself from this conversation and get back to work. She was used to teenagers—hell, she taught them all the time—but that didn’t mean she felt the need to listen to their every flight of fancy, and in her experience, teenagers had a lot of them.
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  “Mick is a witch,” the long-haired girl said.

  “Oh.” Tess smiled at the boy, thinking he didn’t look like any witch she’d ever seen before, but then again: teenagers.

  “I’m Mick,” the bald girl said, seeing Tess’s confusion. “He’s Dobie.”

  “Oh,” Tess said again. “I just assumed…”

  “Yeah, everyone does,” the girl replied. “Mick is short for Michelle.”

  “I’m Speck,” the seated girl chimed in with a shy wave.

  Street kids, Tess thought. They nearly always have street names, usually to help them forget the homes they’re trying to escape, but also because it makes them harder to track down, harder to arrest.

  “My name’s Tess,” she said, out of courtesy. “Nice to meet you all.”

  Like a wisp of smoke, the librarian appeared once more. “Okay,” she announced much louder than was necessary. “I want you kids out of here. You’re bothering the other people—”

  “They’re not bothering me,” Tess said quickly, which earned her a scathing glance from the bird-woman. “We were just talking.”

  “This isn’t the first time these particular children have been warned,” the librarian continued, her tone poisonous. “Now, get out of here, all of you! Before I call the cops!”

  “That’s not fair,” Speck cried, rising from her seat. “We weren’t even being loud!”

  “I can hear you all the way across the library!”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it,” Dobie said. He sounded almost bored but his words further enraged the woman.

  “That does it! I’m calling the cops!” The woman stomped off, making a far bigger spectacle of the situation than the kids had been doing.

  “What a fucking bitch,” Dobie said. “Come on, let’s get out here before she hits us with a broom.”