The Queen of the Cicadas

by V. Castro

  Hector placed an arm on Benny’s shoulder and Benny returned the gesture. I stood, feeling awkward in a moment they seemed to share. Concepcion didn’t speak again. Instead she fell asleep with her hands at her side, looking at peace, with her body covered with a light blanket. Benny didn’t want to disturb her with the apartment being so small, so we left. I parted ways with Hector and Benny, feeling like the third wheel as they were fast friends talking in and out of Spanish. Benny, short for Benigno, was a doctor in San Luis Potosi. He discounted any gossip about his family as just that: gossip. Their family luck changed years after Concepcion fell into her catatonic state. A well-respected, wealthy doctor paid the family to study her periodically. Benny was always curious when Dr. Rey was around, and the old doctor didn’t mind entertaining the young boy’s questions. When Dr. Rey retired, he promised to pay for Benny’s education if he maintained his grades. Benny not only maintained his grades, but excelled.

  I returned to my single motel room to sleep or masturbate or whatever else I could do to help me focus and think about the things that had transpired. What exactly did I want out of this trip, which was taking a turn for the strange? Was Milagros haunting the farm and her family? The motel was simple with basic furniture and a small TV with bad reception. The loud mini fridge was fully stocked with Topo Chico water. I could drink that water like wine. I fell asleep earlier than I ever would normally. Who was the woman without any skin?

  Chapter Seven

  Mictecacíhuatl, Queen of the Dead, speaks from Mictlan

  May I tell you my side of the story? Sometimes the dead deserve to be amongst the living and some of the living should long be dead or never born at all. But that is not the way of life. Just ask the women who have died in childbirth. They are my handmaidens down here, in Mictlan, the place you call the underworld. I reside here, to preside over the bones of the dead with my king, who has been enjoying his retirement from worship. He never recovered from the deep sorrow that invaded his soul after the slaughter by the conquistadors.. He is a pussycat, really, even though he is more of a dog person. I am the one they should have feared.

  On this particular day, I walked on a road near my home. A single drop of blood dripped on my robe. With one finger I brought it to my mouth, taking in its essence. Its sweetness was familiar to me. When I looked above, there was nothing there, and I continued on. Later, as I sat reading, a small cry alerted me to a crime I could not ignore. And so many heinous acts of evil I have watched since the inception of time. I traveled through the eye of a little spider to a ceiba tree where I found the voice that filled me with such despair. It was a young woman about to perish by the hands of other cruel, hate-filled humans. There was no need for me to look into their hearts to see their wickedness. To say I was displeased is an understatement. I was furious, and in my fury, I poured my power into the earth and the tree and the beautiful creatures of the land to take vengeance on behalf of this innocent. Their venom would be more toxic and their will my own, because this innocent was special. She had the blood of magic. Her ancestor, Ikal, was a great priest who worshipped me with such fervor, all his sacrifices were pleasing to me. In fact, he died protecting my divine countenance chiseled in stone as it dripped in the precious blood of those who sailed upon the wind of greed and domination. For a time, they cowered before the ferocity of our warriors dressed in vividly painted armor as jaguars. They knew we sacrificed our captives. Milagros’s noble priest ancestor refused to be a slave and, in a final act of defiance, he was cut down. That is why I heard her call. The currency of loyalty and blood surpasses anything that can be exchanged by hand.

  I clipped a string of my heart muscle and gave it to another spider to wrap in a parcel of webbing for the chicharra to feed upon. My essence, once inside the little insect, perched upon the dying woman’s collar bone. I asked her what she wished of me. In a voice that was silent to everyone but me, she said she wanted blood-for-blood vengeance. She wanted to live on. I should visit her twin and tell her of all that had happened. Together they were special. Her heart wanted to make love to the Devil so she may sell her soul for life, or revenge. In that moment I wanted to kiss her forehead and stroke her head, like a mother would console a small child after a bad dream. I explained I could not bring her back to life as she was dying. That is final. The particles of her soul were already beginning to disperse and make their way to my kingdom. I allowed half of her soul to remain on her world while the other stayed with me, for a cost. Blood. Worship. Life. I informed her there was no such thing as the Devil. The closest she would ever come to such a monster stood in front of her. If she wanted to peer into the skull of the grotesque, she should open her eyes and see her tormentors. One of them tried to flee. I say tried because that little fish would not escape my hook. She saw my image and it was my intention for all to see me once more in my horrible beauty painted in wrath.

  Feeding this power of justice over the ages of time would require a sacrifice by everyone. Punishment has a dear price. Both she and her twin would have to give of themselves in blood and spirit. And I wanted punishment too. The invaders must have thought themselves gods because they forced their seed on the women of the brown soil to create a different race of offspring. It is because of those invaders long ago that I am no longer worshipped. All that blood spilled in the name of another god forced me to return to my universe outside of this one. But let it be known once and for all, the known space beyond is like a string of polished jade stones, tightly coiled so that each one gently touches another. Each stone is a different universe with unique beings, gods and laws. When these stones touch there is nothing to stop an exchange of energy. When universes collide is when you see and feel those things that you fear.

  The legend of the humans says my visage is flayed, and this is indeed true. All you see when you gaze upon me is striated ropes of muscle as taut as the strings of a warrior’s bow. My veins are prominent with their shades of blue and dark red. Mostly they beat steadily except when in the throes of sex with my love. But in our universe, no one is tethered by such a delicate thing as skin. Being skinless has given us a freedom that humans do not enjoy. During sex our bodies intertwine, making the experience so much more intense. There is nowhere to hide or fake as every muscle spasm can be seen and felt. Slick with blood, we move in and out of each other until our bodies resemble a sheet of flesh that is truly two beings becoming one. It is quite a sad thing to see so much misery caused by skin. As much as I hated to leave this bauble of paradise, once those boats set foot upon our chosen home, I knew it would only be a matter of time before we would be forced to flee. The god of the boat people is a jealous god.

  It is also true the home I share with my husband is a windowless box. The walls and columns that keep my residence standing are made from the tightly compacted bones of the dead. The hallways are made from skulls that look out from the walls, whispering to me their deeds in life or their song of praise for allowing their presence in my home. There is one single room without anyone at all. Looking after souls is a deafening job. Even we need a place to retreat to for solace and quiet. If I had not been at rest in my darkened windowless room, I might not have heard the cry of Milagros until it was too late, and her cry made me ache. It made me think of all the screams of my devotees as they were murdered by demons on horseback. Powerlessness is a horrible thing to feel. Constant fear is a rope, a sword, a whip cutting into flesh and consciousness until you become a walking dead thing.

  I called upon the cicada perched upon her neck to collect half of her soul for safekeeping until the time came for her to change form for good. The cicada shell with her soul would rest in my womb. When she feels her vengeance is full and my belly has grown large, I will bring her back. She will be my daughter in this otherworld. For now, she will be La Reina de Las Chicharras. I would be lying if I said it didn’t feel good, to be halfway into the world of the living again. The tales of our existence have been denounced. We are thi
ngs of fiction, dusty artifacts preserved behind glass, mere characters created by early civilizations to explain their world. Science says we do not exist.. But next time you hear that scratch or howl or have a sensation of unease, it is not science in the room; it could be one of us, passing through your realm. The otherworld is closer than you think because eyes are like skin, soft barriers that prevent enlightenment instead of bringing you closer to the truth.

  Chapter Eight

  When I could just feel the sunlight on my eyelids, I received a call from Hector.

  “Something is wrong. Very, very wrong. Benny asked me to call you. The nurse left a message he couldn’t understand and now she isn’t answering her phone.” His voice and what he said almost didn’t register as I struggled to wake up. It was only the fear in his tone that roused me enough to brush my teeth and pull back my hair. Coffee would have to wait. The nurse had strict instructions to keep her phone on at all times after Concepcion decided to speak. She lived there Monday to Friday, sleeping on the pull-out bed in the front room, her only job being to care for Concepcion, who needed constant medical attention. In all her years of employment, there had never been an emergency or anything out of the ordinary.

  Hector and Benny met me at the motel, which was halfway between the apartment building and Benny’s home. We walked rapidly towards the apartment building in silence. It felt wrong to ask how their night went with Benny being in such a distressed state. This entire journey and the story of Milagros was becoming something none of us expected. It was a muddled tale taking a life of its own within our lives. You hear about weird shit; rarely do you experience it. Benny’s first thought was his aunt might be alone due to some emergency the nurse might be experiencing, or they were robbed. The latter was unlikely because it was a safe neighborhood and when Benny called the doorman, he said no one he didn’t know had been in or out. The doorman was waiting for us when we arrived at the apartment.

  “Señor, I can’t open the door. The key you gave me for an emergency isn’t working either. I’ve tried everything! I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help.” The old man continued to pull on his moustache, his distress as great as Benny’s because he had worked there nearly as long as Concepcion was a tenant.

  “It’s okay. We’ll all go up. Maybe it’s nothing.” Benny fidgeted in silence during the extended ride to the fifth floor. The tension smothered our words and all we could do was stare at the doors until they opened.

  When we got off the elevator, the door to Concepcion’s apartment opened as we approached. We could not see who was there. Benny sprinted ahead with us following. The immediate scent of blood filled our nostrils like a muggy blanket of heat on skin, the kind you feel when you exit a plane somewhere humid. The nurse lay on the floor with her neck sliced open, the esophagus hanging out of the gash like a tongue. Concepcion kneeled over the body, covered in blood, with her nightgown looking like a second red skin. We didn’t know if it all belonged to the nurse or if Concepcion herself was somehow injured. There was so much of it. The doorman stumbled out of the room and ran.

  Without a single strand of hair out of place, Concepcion whispered, “La Reina de Las Chicharras.” She turned to face us and spoke in Spanish. I turned to Benny and Hector, who both looked to be in shock.

  “Wha-what is she saying?” Hector stammered,

  “Uhhh. She says Milagros needs to be fed. She will be back soon.” Concepcion looked at me, pointing the blade towards my abdomen. Her eyes were soft and pleading and she spoke again in a language I hated myself for not speaking. It made me feel lost. Between worlds.

  With tears in his eyes Benny spoke and took a step forward. “She says, ‘Belinda, you are so empty. Let her fill you up. Let her love shine through you. No one will harm you and you will never feel lonely again. The Queen is real!’”

  I shook my head, wanting to burst into sobs and run away, like I always did.

  Both men, who were twice my size, looked as if they might run, too. Benny gawked in shock with his eyes fixed on the opening in the nurse’s neck leaking blood in a steady flow. As a doctor I would have expected him to rush into action. I don’t think this scene of murder registered with his brain; this was a woman he had only known in one way. I viewed this differently as an outsider, the horror not consuming me as it did him. Truth be told, Concepcion’s words comforted me. I wanted to hear them, feel them. I kept my eyes on the old woman and not the dead body.

  “Concepcion.” She looked wild when I acknowledged her. Something vibrated from her body that called me forward. I knew she didn’t mean to harm any of us. I pointed to the knife and extended my hand, trying to smile. She grinned back at me, then looked at Benny, tears falling from her eyes.

  Her voice cracked. She appeared to have something heartfelt to say to Benny.

  “How did you…” Benny managed to say between sobs. Hector and Benny exchanged glances.

  I was nearing Concepcion one step at a time. There was no way this frail lady would be a match for me. I had to continue to look at her face; otherwise I might have vomited with the sight of the body at our feet. My plan was to grab her waist with one hand and her wrist holding the knife with the other. I hoped one of the guys would take the opportunity to snatch the weapon away.

  She spoke again, too calm for someone who’d just committed a murder, her eyes flat and dark as if she were tunneling to somewhere far from here.

  The old woman brought the blade to her neck and sliced clean through with a swift, firm grip. Warm spray hit my eyes and mouth. Hector and Benny screamed. I could only watch the blood exit her body as she collapsed to the floor. The existing pool of blood increased in size as it surrounded me. It looked as if I was stepping into a lake of crimson, a place of baptism. It was so dark there was no telling how deep it could be. Was it even blood? It could have been a mirror.

  Another scream, this one female, brought me back to the crime scene. A neighbor at the open doorway stared at the two dead bodies. She only looked away to scramble around her purse to find her phone. Back to his senses, Benny kneeled in the puddle of blood, clutching the lifeless body of Concepcion. Tears and snot covered his face in a wet mask, with the rest of him slathered in her blood. Neither Hector nor I could move. Where would we go? What could we do? I could tell Hector wanted to run to Benny, scoop him up in his arms. He held back.

  I went to Hector’s side. “What did she say? What happened?”

  He shook his head and wiped his tears. “She told Benny to have a good life and find love because this world is tired. She said I looked like a nice boy. How…how did she know? Before she…”

  His voice cracked and lips quivered.

  “Hector, you don’t have to say any more.”

  “No. It sounded important. She said her magic is gone. ‘It is for the new life. I will feed her now.’”

  I wrapped my arms around Hector as we both cried together at this tragedy.

  In a matter of minutes, the police and an ambulance arrived with a crowd of people rushing through the door. The doorman had called the police when he made it back to his desk. They also received the call from the woman, who was being interrogated in the corridor. There was nothing we could do except answer their questions, which we had no answers to. Benny wasn’t angry and he didn’t blame us for showing up and bringing all this doom into his life, but he also didn’t want us around much longer. Hector offered to stay and help, but Benny was adamant his family would not want outsiders interfering in their business. These past few days were beyond anything he could have imagined happening with Concepcion. Everyone assumed one day she would be found peacefully gone in her bed. Everything he’d learned in medicine was challenged by the macabre twist of events. Benny wanted time to investigate on his own. He thanked us for telling him about Milagros; however, her body could stay where it was. A plaque on the tree where she perished was enough. After all the affairs were taken care of here, he
would come pay his respects. The doctors thought Concepcion might have been in some state of psychosis after awakening. In her disturbed state of mind, she killed the nurse. It was all just a terrible accident that no one could have predicted. Some things even science or medicine could not explain.

  * * *

  Benny opened the door to Concepcion’s apartment, wishing someone else could do this. His mind and body felt continually bogged down in a blanket of exhaustion, even after going to bed every night before nine p.m. and sleeping every day until noon. Maybe he shouldn’t have told Hector and Belinda to leave. No, it was better this way. He took a single step inside. A black stain still covered the spot on the floor where the nurse and Concepcion had bled out. It reminded him of an ugly bruise or a blood clot. The urge to leave overwhelmed him, but this was the third time he put this off. All of that after looking for someone he could pay to do this job for him. But he wanted one more look to try to understand it all. Maybe his memory would shed light on her condition, which had made no sense.

  He shut the door behind him and went straight to the bedroom to clear out the room and gather Concepcion’s few belongings. It smelled like her. The room felt off without her looking out the window. Benny approached the unmade bed and touched the soft sheets that would be thrown away instead of reused. The horror of what had happened here had to be forgotten, at least for a little while. Otherwise the grief would overtake him. He fell to his knees, leaning his arms and forehead against the mattress. The sobs rolled out of him quietly until controlling them became too much. As he continued to weep, he squeezed the edges of the mattress until his hands were balled into fists.

  Something solid pressed against his forehead. He pulled back and wiped his eyes. With his right hand, he touched the hard spot. Benny lifted the fitted sheet. On the side of the mattress, a small slit with shredded threads caught his eye. He wiggled his hand into the opening. It was a tight fit, but he managed to feel a sharp corner. Benny jumped to his feet and dashed into the kitchen to grab a knife. He paused as he noticed a blade was missing from the block. It took him back to the trauma. He shook his head and grabbed another, then took big strides back to the bedroom.