“Yes, those do appear to be mosquito bites. They’ve swelled up somethin’ fierce. You sure you’re not allergic?”
“No. At least, I never have been. I don’t know, everything seems to be hitting me harder since I got this little fella.”
“Well, pregnancy can do a lot to the body. It makes your body warm and your veins show more. It’s no wonder the damn little things like you. Oh, excuse me for cursing.”
“No, it’s ok. I’m just glad it isn’t anything serious.”
“Nope, nothing to worry about. No infection, just a bad reaction. Take a Benadryl pill and then rub some Benadryl lotion on the bites. Nothing like Benadryl to take care of an itch, and I don’t even have to write a prescription. After a day or two you should be good.”
Emily was skeptical, but she had never felt comfortable challenging the opinions of medical professionals. After all, that was why she had scheduled the appointment in the first place – her therapist had suggested she see the doctor after listening to Emily’s theories about the bites. Despite Emily’s minor misgivings, she left the doctor’s office feeling better. Certainly not great, but better than she felt going in. She didn’t imagine she could feel great, given that she was eight months along. Walking for two blocks or weeding the small patch of garden behind her house had become cause enough to sit with her feet up for a couple of hours. Ever since she started showing, Emily had begun finding bug bites all over herself.
Emily spent a lot of time in her small back yard and walked to the store when she could, so she thought nothing of the bites at first. But the damned bites kept appearing. Worse, they began swelling and becoming painful, even when she hadn’t scratched them. Emily worried about the bites, about infection, about the t Zika virus, and about anything else that could be transmitted to her baby through blood. She wondered, and not for the first time, if moving to rural Oregon had been the best choice. Of course, there hadn’t been many options, given everything that had happened with James and the insane cost of trying to live in suburban California.
Emily climbed into her small Toyota pickup, drank deeply from her water bottle, and readied herself for twenty-minute minute drive home. It was not a long one, but still inconvenient enough to be an annoyance. It was the price she paid for some privacy on her own land. As Emily glanced in the rearview, she couldn’t help but pause on the swollen red patches crawling over her upper body. The bites felt hot to the touch and itched worse than when Emily had gotten poison ivy as a girl. And the bites were firm. Emily couldn’t believe how tightly her skin stretched over the bumps. Once, she thought she felt something move under her skin while she scratched at the bumps. Her therapist told her she must be imagining that particular sensation.
If the pain wasn’t already bad enough, the bites were unsightly, as well. One, on Emily’s forehead, made her already slightly asymmetric eyebrows even more uneven. Two others peeked out from the straps of her tank top. She supposed she’d be switching to long-sleeved shirts, even if it meant she’d be drinking twice the amount of ice water to battle the humidity. Emily felt herself begin to get teary-eyed but stopped herself. It’s some stupid bug bites. Get yourself together, put on some different clothes, take a Benadryl, and get over it. But even as Emily pulled out of the doctor’s office and turned left onto Marsden Boulevard, silent tears slid down her face.
The densely forested town of Canyon Grove sprawled out all around her. Canyon Grove lay about two miles from the Oregon coast, just far enough to beat the fog, but not far enough to escape coastal rainstorms and the occasional whiff of marine life. Marsden Boulevard was the city’s only well-maintained road, the lifeblood of Canyon Grove. Marsden wound through the heart of the tiny city, with small neighborhoods and the occasional shopping center clinging to the boulevard as if their lives depended on it. In reality, their lives did depend on it. In fact, everyone’s did. If Marsden closed, life in Canyon Grove would shut down until someone could fix the problem.
Once out of Canyon Grove proper, the landscape was more pine trees than houses. Small dirt and gravel roads branched out from Marsden Boulevard, rarely labeled with house numbers or road signs. If not for it being a small town, first responders would have no way to reference where they were heading. As it was, dispatchers would tell officers and ambulances to head left on the road past the old Parsons place, but if you hit the Williams house you went too far. Emily’s road was a bit newer, only just cleared and flattened so that a small crew could get in and build the two bedroom cottage she now called home. Getting a signpost with her house number was on the to-do list, but she always seemed to forget once she was in town. She also seemed to drive past her own driveway on occasion, though she would never admit that to anyone.
Today, the drive home felt longer than normal. She was exhausted. Lately, sleep had felt next to impossible. Emily enjoyed living alone, overall, but she still wasn’t used to all the sounds, or lack of them, in the Oregon forest at night. She had traded loud, barbecuing neighbors for a thick hush that was pierced only by the occasional hooting owl or crackle of something in the underbrush. The thick silence was nice, but it made those crackles from the woods so much more noticeable. Then, there was her bear. Without realizing it, Emily had become the proud owner of a local black bear. The first two times her trash cans had been horizontal in the morning, with trash strewn across the lawn, she assumed it was the wind, or maybe raccoons. But the third time, the damn bear had shat on the walkway from her door to the garbage cans. Clear, unmistakable bear shit – large blobs of dark and seedy droppings. Emily named her Claudia (Clawed-ia, she would chuckle to herself). But it wasn’t just listening for owls and Claudia that kept Emily up.
The truth was, it scared her to go to sleep. Every night, the nightmares crept in. Crawled in, Emily corrected herself. No matter where she was in her dreams, bugs would crawl from every crack and crevice, or hum noisily through the air, drawn to her through some unnatural force. In the worst of her nightmares, every inch of Emily’s skin would be covered in gnats, fleas, roaches, and mosquitos. Many nights, James would be in her nightmares. He was always staring from a distance, watching her writhe and squirm under the blanket of insects. James would look pointedly at her, and when the swarm of bugs was at its worst, he always smiled at her the way he used to before he was about to hurt her. It was as if, in her dreams, James controlled the bugs, and used them to continue hurting her, even though he was miles away. Emily would shoot up in bed, drenched in cold sweat. She would spend the next two hours pacing her bedroom, unable to attempt sleep, or even consider laying down. As Emily paced back and forth, she counted bug bites, on the lookout for anything new. It always seemed as though she had more bites than she had the night before, and she swore the red splotches were spreading.
After Emily pulled her pickup up to the cottage, she walked around the outside of the structure, rubbing her expanding belly and looking for evidence of a bug infestation. She crouched on her hands and knees, face inches from the ground, looking for any signs of encroaching insects. Was the grass too close to the siding, creating a bridge for bugs to enter through the tiniest cracks between the boards? Were there holes or burrows in the dirt near the foundation, little tunnels under her house, and into the crawlspace? There didn’t seem to be any hives hanging in the eaves or lines of insects crawling under the house, but Emily wasn’t convinced. She would need to call a pest control service to give the cottage a once-over. She had the feeling that someone was watching her. Or, rather, something. But when Emily looked toward the surrounding forest, she saw nothing but familiar trees and plants.
######
The pest control man seemed irritated with Emily, but she didn’t care. He had looked all around the house the inside of the house and the outside, including under it, but insisted that there were no nests or anything out of the ordinary. There were bugs, of course, but the normal amount of critters you would find in any Oregonian forest. And no mounds or rotten wood lay close enough to the house for the exterminator to even consider them worth addressing.
“But I keep getting bitten. Can’t you see my arms?”
“M’am, you live in the woods. You have trees on all sides. And it’s Oregon. You’re going to get some bugs, especially mosquitos.”
“But the bites are appearing in the morning. I’m getting bitten in my house.” Emily was losing her patience. She didn’t care for the man’s condescension and she was beginning to feel unsafe in her own home. This was supposed to be a fresh start for her and Benny, as she had started calling her growing belly. How could she stay in this house with a newborn? What if Benny became covered in bites, himself? What if he had a bad reaction? His immune system wouldn’t be able to battle off an allergy like hers could. Emily couldn’t afford to move again, but she also couldn’t (no, wouldn’t) endanger the life of her baby. That’s why she had left James in the first place. Tears were beginning to well in her eyes. The exterminator seemed uncomfortable. He glanced down at her prominent bump, and his tone softened.
“Look, m’am, I’m sorry. I can’t find anything, though. I sprayed inside and out, the nontoxic stuff inside, just to be safe. I’ll come back out in a couple of weeks and take a look again. Maybe the skeeters are getting in when you open the door at night. Maybe you’re sleepwalking. I don’t know. But we’ll try our best to figure it out.”
Evening was already beginning to set in as the pest control van drove down the long dirt road and turned right onto Marsden Boulevard. Emily hoped that the exterminator had removed the problem, but in her heart, she did not feel as though his spraying would make any difference. Stop being negative. At least you did something.
After an underwhelming dinner of frozen pizza, Emily decided to sleep in the living room. Maybe there was something in her bedroom that was biting her at night. She made herself a cup of herbal tea, gathered her pillows and blankets, and began washing them with bleach in the washing machine. Hot cycle, heavy soil setting. If she still had bites after sleep with clean sheets on the couch this evening, Emily swore she’d throw all of her furniture out and start over… again. As the laundry tumbled in the dryer, Emily picked out a cozy mystery from her shelf. She reclined on the couch, intending to read until the dryer dinged.
“Why do you have to make everything so difficult, Little Benny?” Emily smiled down at her belly. He kicked hard against her stomach in reply. Emily laughed, then reach for her book. She tried to read, but after only a couple of pages, her eyes drooped. She was more tired now than ever, and even her concerns about bug bites seem to drift lazily away from her mind. Emily dropped her book to the ground and fell into a deep sleep.
######
Come with me, the hooded man said, clutching Emily’s hand and leading her down a hallway. She trusted the man, but she didn’t know him. The hallway opened into some sort of room with stone walls. A castle… or a tomb. Emily walked forward, then turned to ask the man a question, but when she turned she found herself standing in her living room. A small buzz tickled her ear. She swatted away whatever was there, but the buzzing grew louder. She looked out the window and there was James, staring in with a blank look on his face. Emily tried to scream, but when she opened her mouth, no sound came out, only bugs. A swarm of mosquitos and flies flew up her throat and out of her mouth. She closed her mouth but the buzzing grew and grew, looking for escape.
Emily tried to scream again, but bugs flew out of her mouth now. She was on her knees, vomiting up mosquitos, the insects beginning to crawl over all of her skin. She looked up from the ground to the window, again, and there was James, staring down, the slightest of smiles on his face. He opened his own mouth and bugs came spilling out, joining with hers until Emily could not see through the haze of wings and armored bodies. She heard the front door open. She believed she could make out the hooded man, but the swarm was too thick for her to be sure. Then, the hooded man reached a hand out to help her up from her knees. As she took his hand, a voice came from underneath the hood. “It is almost time,” the man said, and he started guiding Emily toward the door.
######
A crash broke through Emily’s nightmare and she jolted upright, wet with sweat,and panicked. She tumbled off the couch, scratching at her skin and shedding her clothes, looking for bugs. Slowly, it dawned on Emily that the dream had been just that, but the crash had been real. She pulled a nearby blanket around herself, still shaking. The noise had come from outside. “Claudia, are you in the garbage again?” Of course it’s the bear. What else could it be? Emily walked toward the back door of her kitchen. She hoped that turning on the porch light would startle the scavenging bear. If she was lucky, maybe she could snap a picture of Claudia. It would make for good small talk at the Canyon Grove Market and Deli.
But when Emily flicked the light switch, she fell backward into the kitchen table, wincing and closing her eyes. It was James. He had been standing there, staring blankly through the window on the door, just like in her dream. By the time Emily had reopened her eyes, there was nothing outside. She pulled out her phone and dialed 911. Through her tears, she explained the situation and gave her address, but the dispatcher seemed unfamiliar with the road number.
“Is that past Hunter Ferrell’s old place?”
“I don’t know who that is. I think my neighbor’s last name is Thatcher.”
“Oh, Will Thatcher. That clears it right up. A car will be there soon. Keep the doors locked and stay inside.”
“Please hurry.”
Ten minutes is how long it took the deputy to reach her. In those ten minutes, Emily realized just how precarious her new living conditions were. James had not been back, but she was convinced he had not been far away. Her mind had gone over every exit in her house, every weapon, every bad outcome. After a long interview with the deputy, she felt worse than before. She could tell by his smirk that he didn’t believe her. He took one look at the knocked-over trash bins and guessed that it was a bear. The man, to the best he could tell, was just a bit of her nightmare creeping into her waking brain. And, even if the deputy had believed Emily, apparently law enforcement could only intervene with real proof of a crime. Emily didn’t have a security system or one of those video doorbells, but she figured she had better get one immediately. Emily considered getting extra locks and window bars. And, for the first time, Emily considered purchasing a gun.
######
A quick trip to town right when stores opened, and Emily had everything she needed. Drill in hand, she began her fortifications. Doorbell cameras were mounted on every entrance to the house, and wooden dowels were placed in window tracks. She decided to screw them in. Increased security more than made up for a lack of airflow. No one would be able to crawl through the window, unless they broke through the double-paned glass. Not they, Emily corrected. Even if James, her undesirable sperm donor, tried to break through the glass. And, if he did, Emily had another new security measure.
The weight of the Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum was more than she expected. When she held it up and pointed it toward the door in mock defense, she could feel the weight of the firearm begging her to point it back toward the ground. But, aside from the heaviness, the revolver made Emily feel powerful. She had assumed that all guns required a ten day waiting period to purchase, but, as it turned out, Oregon only required a background check for you to walk out the door with a revolver and a box full of ammunition. If Emily had needed to wait ten days, she probably wouldn’t have purchased the gun, or would have reconsidered the purchase by day five. But if James had just been at her house, had watched her while she slept, Emily felt the Smith & Wesson was prudent. Necessary, in fact. How else would she protect herself when the cops couldn’t get to her for ten solid minutes.
Emily’s fortifications were completed before dinner. She made herself hot dogs and opened up a bag of chips. The healthy diet could wait until she was less on edge. She looked through her window to the forest beyond. “Where are you?” she whispered under her breath. All the trees did was wave in reply. Far off, an owl hooted. Emily remembered something about owls being bad luck, foretelling death, but she dismissed the thought as soon as it entered her mind. It wouldn’t do to be paranoid about superstition when there was a very real reason to be scared lurking somewhere out there. If James was here, how had he even found her in Canyon Grove?
That night, Emily decided to sleep in her bed, with the shades drawn and the loaded revolver close by on her nightstand. She rubbed her ever-expanding stomach again, crooning softly, “Don’t worry, Benny. Mommy will protect you. We’re going to be so happy here, and Daddy won’t be a problem anymore.” With one final glance at the gun, Emily drifted into a deep, undisturbed sleep.
“It’s good to see you again, Emily. How are you adjusting to your new home?”
Emily sat in her rocking chair, her tablet propped up on a lap desk. Her psychiatrist’s face took up the entire screen. The tablet’s cheap speakers made Dr. Forman’s voice sound tinny, but Emily was thrilled she was able to keep her regular mental health appointments. Telehealth was about the only option available in Canyon Grove, and luckily her previous provider was certified in both California and Oregon. Dr. Forman was also certified in Nebraska but didn’t practice there long before leaving for the coastal states. Emily had slept soundly for three nights since upgrading the security at her house.
“I love the home and the town, but I’ve been having nightmares. And James is back.”
“In your nightmares?”
“No. I saw him. Outside my window. Watching me sleep.”
To her credit, Dr. Gayle Forman maintained an even tone, although a million questions and concerns started racing through her head. Dr. Forman had known Emily for the past three years. She knew from Emily that James was abusive in the past, but assumed it was run-of-the-mill relationship abuse, some gaslighting and bruises on Emily’s arms and legs. God, had she become that callous and indifferent to her clients? Gayle Forman needed to retire or, at the very least, needed to go on a vacation. But she had not believed James would stalk Emily like this. True, it was his child, but he had made it abundantly clear where he stood on that issue when he threw Emily down a flight of stairs following her pregnancy announcement. To Dr. Forman’s knowledge, James was not even supposed to know where Emily had moved to.
As Emily continued to explain the situation, Dr. Forman listened with pursed lips. Emily discussed her dreams and the fortifications she had put up around the house. Dr. Forman nodded along but seemed to be only half paying attention to the session. Emily could see the psychiatrist’s mind whirring behind her eyes. Until Emily mentioned the revolver.
“I’m sorry, did you say you bought a gun?” Dr. Forman snapped back to full attention.
“Yes, for self-defense.”
“Do you believe that is wise, given your history and your pregnancy?”
“I think it’s especially wise, considering what I know James is capable of.”
“Emily, James is not the history I’m referring to. When you first started seeing me, it was for something else. Those sessions also involved talk of a firearm.”
“That… that was something different. This is self-defense. I would do anything to protect Benny.” Emily’s voice wavered a bit, but her eyebrows furrowed, her features turned to stone.
“It is not Benny I am worried about.”
Emily ended the session fifteen minutes early, making a flimsy excuse about needing to get groceries. Dr. Forman had sounded… disapproving. She had a point, Emily conceded, but Emily’s current problem had nothing to do with her past ones. She had addressed those problems with therapy and medication, which she had slowly weaned herself off of. It was a good thing she was no longer relying on those pills, too, because pregnancy and anti-psychotics didn’t mix well. Well, the doctors had said a low dose presented very few problems, if any, but Emily didn’t want to test the odds of “very few.”
Despite the contentious meeting with Dr. Forman, Emily was fairly happy when she went to bed that evening. With the revolver on her nightstand, she drifted off into another night of deep sleep. But around two in the morning, her dreams shifted into another waking nightmare.
######
Are you ready, the hooded man asked, again holding Emily’s hand. He guided her down a path, deep in the woods. Around her, trees shimmered, obscured by thick mists that wound like snakes around their trunks. Every time Emily tried to focus on a tree, it vanished and was replaced by long tendrils of dense fog that threatened to reach out and grab her, to swallow and digest her. The hooded man seemed less trustworthy now, but he had her hand and she didn’t dare leave the path. He gripped her hand so much it began to hurt, then turned to face her and… And… And then Emily was laying naked on a table in a forest clearing, with a pristine operating cart near her. The hooded man stood down by her feet, staring between her legs. Emily tried to close them, but she was bound. Then James appeared next to the hooded man, dressed in blue scrubs with a knife in hand. It’s time, the men said in eerie unison.
Emily could hear buzzing. She felt the bugs before she could see them, crawling over her thighs. She lifted her head. Something was wrong. Things were crawling… within her. Emily realized the insects were crawling out of her, clawing their way out of her vagina. She opened her mouth to scream, but just as in her last dream, legs and wings spilled out of her throat and out into the world. As the roomed fill with bugs from Emily’s body, James began to laugh. He’s here, the hooded man said as James’s laugh became increasingly unhinged.
######
Emily woke with a start, sweat dripping from her forehead. Inside, Benny was moving frantically, pushing out against her belly. She could feel herself cramping. This was all wrong. It was too early. Braxton-Hicks, a small voice in the back of her mind said. But she didn’t feel reassured. Emily turned on the lamp and gasped audibly. Fresh bug bites decorated her inner thighs, creating a mural of swelling, rashy skin. When Emily screamed, no bugs poured from her mouth, but downstairs, the sound of breaking glass made her fall abruptly silent.
Emily started to shake. Inside, Benny began kicking her even more forcefully than before. She looked to the nightstand and, hands quivering, picked up her Smith & Wesson. The gun had a slight calming effect on Emily, but even though her hands had steadied, her knees and legs quivered underneath her. Emily became acutely aware of how the hairs on her arms raised, and how heavy the firearm was in her hands. Safety off, Emily thought to herself. As she inched toward the door, Emily strained to hear something from downstairs. After the shattering glass, the house had become as silent as a graveyard. Outside, the wind slowly brushed through the trees, but inside, Emily found she could hear nothing.
Emily slowly opened the door with her left hand, the right still white-knuckling her gun. As she pulled the door toward her, she stepped back and brought her left hand back up to the gun, but immediately doubled over, another contraction rolling through her. Not now, Emily thought, gritting her teeth. Please hold on, Benny. Now, with the door open, Emily believed she could hear something. At first, it seemed like the wind sneaking in through whichever window had been broken. But underneath the soft whistling, Emily swore she heard a faint buzz, the hum of tiny wings. She shrugged it off. Just her nightmare, peeking in. Emily made her way down the hall, revolver raised. Ahead, the lights remained out. Through the living room window, moonlight streamed in, glinting off the window shards scattered on the carpet.
Emily looked to her left, then her right. Everything looked in its place… Then, the buzzing became louder. Emily turned her gun to the door, but it was still closed and locked. Another contraction hit her, and she dropped her gaze to the floor, her left hand braced on her knee and her right limply holding the revolver. As the contraction ended, Emily lifted her eyes back to the door. It was open. A new shiver rolled up Emily’s spine.
“It’s almost time.”
Emily spun and leveled the gun at the voice. A robed, hooded man stood in her kitchen – he must have slipped in while she was doubled over. Something was off about him. His robe was crawling. Emily looked down the revolver’s barrel, which now shook along with her hands. Then, the hooded man’s robes started to leave his body. No, flew from him. A cloud of insects exploded from the man, starting from his legs and moving up to his chest. As the insects swarmed around the pair, Emily saw the man raise his hands and draw the hood away from his face. Emily felt another contraction hit her, and glanced down. There was blood on the floor.
“Emily…”
Before the man could finish, Emily fired.
######
“What do we got?” Detective Rogers walked up the wooden steps to the wraparound porch. He had been called from the next town over to the little town of Canyon Grove. A detective sergeant with twenty-one years of experience, Rogers waited patiently for an answer to his question. Small-town officers weren’t used to murder cases, and the younger officers always became tongue-tied or, worse, chattered incessantly whenever he arrived on the scene. This particular officer was the latter.
“There’s a lady. She’s pregnant. Or, I mean, she was. She’s dead. And she shot this guy. Weird guy. Had like a cloak or something. Like some sort of cult guy. He’s dead too. She shot him, and then, with her, she’s…”
“Take a breath kid. More details. Give it to me slow. The bodies ain’t going anywhere.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Umm, Officer Richards, sir. The male, he was thirty-two years old, if his ID is accurate. Gunshot wounds to the chest. Bled out on the ground. It looks like the female shot him. She got him good. Heart and lungs. Seemed like some sort of break-in. I don’t know. Smashed windows, door wide open. The lady, I mean, the female was twenty-nine years old. Just moved here. She died during childbirth.”
“Sorry, son. Did you say childbirth?”
“Umm, yes, sir. The paramedics have the baby now. He’s good. When they found him, he was covered in bugs. No bites, though. They say he’ll pull through. They showed up quick, even beat me here.”
“What in the Goddamn Hell did I walk into?”
Detective Rogers looked toward the ambulance, now registering the cries of the newborn. As he made eye contact with one of the paramedics, he swore a fly crawled out from the man’s nose. Rogers blinked twice, but didn’t see the flies anymore. The paramedic gave him an oddly sterile smile before closing the ambulance doors. The ambulance began to pull away, presumably to the same town Rogers had just left. Detective Rogers rubbed his temples. It was going to be a long night. As he lifted his head toward the front door of the house, he swore he heard buzzing.
