"You're not. You killed yourself, like all the others. You left me."
"No, Charlie, you left me. Right after your mother died. Your father and I tried to help you, but nothing worked. The doctors put you in here after you tried to burn the house down."
Burn the house down? I didn't remember that. But then, there were so many things I no longer remembered, so many things hidden behind the misty walls the drugs created in my head.
I looked at her hand. It trembled ever so slightly, just enough to cause her wedding ring to glitter in the dim light of the single bulb overhead.
"I'll prove that you're wrong," I said, and I reached out, expecting my hand to pass through hers.
It didn't.
Her skin felt cool and dry against mine, and her fingers tightened, gripping me tight.
"You're real. Oh, my God, you're real." I pulled her to me, wrapped my arms around her, clutched at her body. She sobbed against my shoulder, and I felt my own tears creating warm tracks down my cheeks.
Finally I pulled back, dried her tears with my fingers. "How long?"
Kelli gave me a half-smile. "Eight months, Charlie. Eight months I've been waiting for you to come back to me."
How could I have been so stupid? How could I have thrown away so much time. . .time I could have been with her? I leaned forward and kissed her, smashing my lips into hers, running my tongue into her mouth, tasting her sweet candy breath mixed with the saltiness of her tears.
I almost cried again when she broke the kiss.
"I can't stay, Charlie. Visiting hours are almost over. But if you show them you're better, we can be together again in the morning. For good, this time."
"Show them I'm better? How?" I was ready to do anything to be with her again, now that I knew my ghosts had been nothing but delusions.
"You have to prove to yourself that your delusions aren't real. You have to kill yourself."
"No! That's what the ghosts have been telling me to do."
Kelli cradled my face in her hands. So cool and soft against my skin, they calmed me the way water calms a fire. "Exactly. And since it's not real, nothing can actually happen to you. That's the only way you'll really believe it's all been a nightmare. You have to break the cycle."
It made sense. If everything around me had been an illusion, a figment of my own imagination, then committing suicide would end it, and I'd be left with reality.
I nodded. "I'll do it."
Kelli's smile burned any traces of fear out of me. I'd always loved her smile. "That's my boy." She gave me another kiss and then stood up. "I'll see you tomorrow."
I watched her open the door and leave. For once, the sound of the door shutting again didn't make me feel trapped or alone.
"Tomorrow," I whispered.
***
The first thing I felt when I woke up was pain. My throat ached with it; a burning, vicious red throbbing that caused me to gasp for air. It was like breathing smoke through a straw. I choked and gagged as my lungs strained to fill themselves. I tried to reach for my throat. I wanted to claw out whatever was obstructing the airflow.
My hands wouldn't move.
I could feel my eyes bulging from their sockets from the pressure in my throat, but I still managed to look down and see I was strapped to a table, bandages covering both wrists. I heaved my body, trying to break free. Each movement sent further jolts of pain down my neck, and caused me to wheeze even harder. My vision grew dim; spots twirled and danced before my eyes.
A figure came into view, fuzzy and indistinct. Something touched my arm. A second later, the pain went away and I was able to breathe easier. I drew in deep lungfuls of air, my panic receding as my body got the oxygen it craved.
"Is that better, Mr. Mason?" An unfamiliar voice, somewhere out of my range of vision.
"Yes," I said. It sounded more like a croak than anything.
Something touched my lips. "Drink this, it will help."
I sucked on the straw. Cool liquid poured across my tongue and down my throat, washing away the last of the pain with soothing wetness.
When I tried to speak again, my voice was almost normal. "Where am I?"
A man's face came into view. I knew him. Dr. Kray.
I was still in the hospital.
"You're in the infirmary, Mr. Mason. Do you know why?"
Kelli's face appeared in my mind's eye. Her visit. Last night? "I'm supposed to go home. My wife said that if I prove I'm better, I can go home."
One of Kray's eyebrows went up. "When did she tell you this?"
"The last time she came to visit. Yesterday."
The doctor's lips tightened, the kind of expression you see on people when they have to tell you bad news but don't want to.
"Mr. Mason, we've been over this before. Your wife is dead. You're in here because you've tried to commit suicide in the past. You tried again last night. Do you remember that?"
I didn't. "No."
"You tried to strangle yourself with your bedsheet. Your neck will be sore for a few days, and it will hurt to swallow, but you'll be fine. However, we're going to have to keep you sedated and restrained, at least for a while."
He jotted down some notes on a clipboard and gave me a professional smile that carried no real warmth. "I'll be back later to see how you're doing. Get some rest."
Kray left, the nurse who'd spoken to me following behind. I heard a door shut, and the room took on a feeling I knew too well. I was alone.
I closed my eyes and started counting.
I'd reached forty-five when she spoke.
"I can't believe you, Charlie. You screwed up again."
Opening my eyes brought the expected sight of Kelli standing by the bed. She looked as beautiful as she had the night before, and something inside me broke. My last traces of tenacity crumbled.
I remembered how she felt in my arms, and I knew the time had come for us to be together again. Even if I had to die to do it. I couldn't stand the thought of another day—another minute—without her.
Why had I ever bothered fighting it? What good was my life if Kelli wasn't in it?
"That's what I've been trying to tell you, silly," she said. "That's what we've all been trying to tell you."
Flashes of light glittered behind her, and the rest of them appeared: Mom and Dad, my grandparents, long-lost cousins.
"We've all been waiting for you," Dad said. He came forward and put a rough, calloused hand on my shoulder. "It's so wonderful. We can go fishing again, anytime you want."
My mother spoke up. "I'll be the kind of mother I should have been when I was alive, Charlie."
They gathered around me, my wife and family, telling me how much they loved me, missed me. They laughed and they cried. I cried, too, knowing that I'd be with them soon, that I'd never be alone again.
I don't know how long we stayed like that, but suddenly they all stepped aside. A moment later, the door opened, and I heard footsteps.
"Time for your medicine," the nurse said as she approached the bed.
She swabbed my arm, but before she could deliver the shot, I spoke up. "Nurse, my hand. It's all pins and needles. Can you loosen the strap? It really hurts."
"Sure." She undid the binding and started rubbing my hand. "Is the feeling coming back?"
Instead of answering, I pulled my hand away and grabbed her by the shirt, yanked her forward. Her head landed on my stomach and I shifted my grip, clenching her neck in the crook of my arm like a wrestler delivering a chokehold. I squeezed as hard as I could, but she managed to get out a brief scream before I cut off her air supply. I held on until she went limp, and then I let go, knowing I'd only have a minute or two, at best.
As fast as I could, I fumbled open the strap on my other arm and sat up. I didn't bother freeing my feet. The only thing I needed was right next to me on a metal tray— the needle the nurse had planned on using.
"Do it, Charlie!" Kelli whispered. "Hurry!"
The others cried out their urging a
s well. I grabbed the syringe and pulled the cap off. Without pause, I jammed it into my eye as far as it would go and pushed in the plunger.
Agony exploded in my head and face, and I howled, my cry of pain causing a second wave of torture to erupt from my already bruised throat.
I fell back on the table, my hands instinctively clawing at my eye, trying to end my suffering. Dim voices shouted, but I only heard pieces of what they said.
Crash cart. Emergency. Code Blue.
Then it all disappeared.
***
There was no sensation of time passing, but at some point the black slowly brightened until I was surrounded by white. No walls, no floor, no sky. Just white.
"Hello, Charlie."
I turned around, and there she was. Kelli, in all her radiant glory. If anything, she looked more beautiful now than she had when she was alive.
My whole family stood behind her in a big, smiling group.
"Kelli." I started toward her, and she opened her arms, welcoming me.
She waited until I had my arms around her before she changed.
Her beautiful outer shell flaked off in cakey pieces, revealing green, scaly skin, a hole where her nose should have been, a giant mouth filled with jagged teeth. Red eyes that dripped pus-yellow fluids.
I tried to turn around, but her freshly-grown claws dug into my arms. Her head darted forward faster than a cobra and she bit a chunk of flesh from my shoulder. I screamed, but my cries were muffled by the rest of the family, all of them now hideous creatures, as they smothered me, joining Kelli for the feast. They tore at me, shredding my skin, pulling pieces of my flesh with their teeth and nails.
When they were done, there was nothing left of me except my bones and my horror.
"Welcome to Hell, Charlie," Kelli said, her voice clotted and phlegmy with my blood. Her human appearance had returned. "We're going to do this every day for eternity, unless. . ."
Unless what? I wondered.
"Unless you bring someone over," Dad finished.
Bring someone. . .?
"The way I brought you." Kelli gave me an evil smile. "You've caused me a lot of pain. Three years I've been waiting for you to kill yourself. That's like a fucking eternity here. I've been gutted, tortured, and raped more times than you can count. I hope it takes you just as long to bring Jim to us. I hope it takes you for-fucking-ever."
Jim? My brother?
"That's the price, Charlie," my mother said.
"No!" I had my voice back. I looked down, saw my body had regenerated.
My family attacked again, only this time they all had fangs full of poison.
"How long can you take it, Charlie?" Kelli asked, as I twitched and writhed from the acid in my veins.
Giving in is always easier when you truly know the stakes.
"Tell me how to find him."
JG Faherty has had a varied career, which provides a rich background for his writing. Currently the owner of www.aperfect-resume.com, he has previously worked as a laboratory manager, R&D scientist, accident scene photographer, zoo keeper, salesman, and anatomy instructor.
An Active Member in the Horror Writers Association, JG's credits include more than two dozen short stories published in major genre magazines and anthologies. He also contributes columns, interviews, and book reviews to various newsletters and websites.
A life-long fan of horror and dark fiction, JG enjoys reading, watching movies, golfing, hiking with his wife and dogs, volunteering as an exotic animal caretaker, and playing the guitar. His favorite holiday is Halloween, and as a child, one of his local playgrounds was an 18th century cemetery.
If you see him at a horror convention, feel free to buy him a Guinness.
You can visit him at the following places: www.jgfaherty.com, www.twitter.com/jgfaherty, or www.facebook.com/jgfaherty.
—EXEGESIS OF THE INSECTA APOCRYPHA
by Colleen Anderson
"In the beginning, it was a shift, a flutter of orange and black that caught her eye and held it, pulling her into a new paradigm before she knew there ever was one. The opening of the butterfly's wings fastened her two-year-old gaze forever." Apocryphon 1
The Apocrypha first appeared on the World Wide Web in the early twenty-first century. Their legitimacy as sacred writing was not considered for two decades, with arguments reiterating that class Insecta could never evolve to the state of written language, let alone into a mindset able to formulate histories and concepts of time. In light of the documented case of the child with compound eyes being born last year, as well as several climatic shifts that haven increased insect populations, the Insecta Apocrypha are being analyzed for new interpretations. Whether they are indicators of a convergence of evolution and intelligence to a new level is not in the purview of this paper.
What draws the eye immediately is the symbolism. Butterflies and birds have long been seen as forms of the human soul. Just as the Bible opens with Genesis, so does the Apocrypha begin with a genesis of sorts, and at the awakening of a child's consciousness begins the search for the meaning of soul. 2
APOCRYPHON I–DISCOVERY
Ever since that first erratic flight, Libby's gaze followed minute forms of locomotion. Whether a larva wriggling, a beetle scuttling, a dragonfly flitting and hovering, or the leap of a grasshopper, she watched intently, tracing its path as long as possible. At the age of four, she squatted in the garden, staring intently at something that shivered the long grass. Inhaling noisily, she wrinkled her nose at the cloying smell but stayed put.
Her father's words were less than a fly's buzz and her chubby little fingers itched to pick up one of the writhing white maggots that worked its way in and out of what was once a mouse. The grey brown fur was nearly indistinguishable under the moving carpet that gently trembled.
In that instant Libby understood that life was cannibalistic, feeding on itself, but taking different forms. Life fed on death, death generated life—an intrinsic cycle.
Early on, she noticed that people shied from answering her questions about death and decay. It disturbed them, especially when insects were involved in the decomposition. There was something about the mindless infestation of life feeding voraciously on the dead. A need was deposited in her, a small egg incubating, maturing the more attention she gave it, until it could eat its way out of her. The larval thought was curiosity, but it was inherently tied to watching life and death.
Her father buried the mouse and its white pulsing attendants, digging a hole so deep that Libby never found the spot again.
***
One humid morning brought mosquitoes swarming from the creek in the back field. Libby had been walking with her mother, who had stopped to take a few pictures of plants. She listened to the whine of mosquitoes and held out her arm. They alighted, a half dozen or so, their needle thin proboscises piercing her flesh. They sucked and fattened on her blood. Although it itched slightly, Libby didn't interfere with their feeding until her mother turned and said, "Libby, what are you doing!"
Her mother frantically brushed the mosquitoes from her arm and dragged Libby out of the woods, swatting the whole time. At home Libby found her arm swathed in calamine. She watched it throughout the next day, fascinated by the reddish bumps that arose. If she scratched them long enough they enlarged and seeped a clear liquid before blood oozed like small volcanoes erupting. She licked her wounds, feeling the heat of her skin and the slight sourness of the scabs.
She never shied from any insect, letting red-backed ladybirds and butterflies alight on her, moving her feet into the path of shiny, black carapaced June bugs, or walking into a spider's web to induce the arachnid to crawl across her. Holding her mouth open, she would stick out her tongue, letting a few brave insects land so that she could feel the soft dance of their feet. Bites and stings often laced her skin and left her parents bewildered.
Children have a natural curiosity and, like cats, they will watch anything that moves. They are sometimes considered cruel when, in
their discoveries, they tear apart insects or hit another child with a stick. Libby's early experiences, when read without the fictional embellishments, are within the normal range of a child's development and expanding consciousness.
It is possible that this early infusion of insect venoms laid the tracery for Libby's later metamorphosis. Her next stage, in Apocryphon II, began at the age of six. Libby actively investigated the insect world and was ready to learn the depth of what they could do. 3
APOCRYPHON II–EXPERIMENTATION
She found an orange striped kitten in the field behind her house. There was a small stand of alders near the creek and she stood under the fluttering leaves, holding the mewing kitten. Taking a string from her pocket, she tied one end around the cat's neck and the other end around a slender tree. Libby patted the kitten once, then walked away.
It took three days for the insect world and the mammalian one to intersect. Each day she strode quickly to the grove of trees and checked the kitten. The first day it struggled and mewed loudly when it saw her. She turned and left it. The second day, it lay on its side, panting, croaking out a feeble meow. Libby searched for insect activity and on seeing none, left. The third day, she bent over, peering at the prone kitten. Its eyes were open and glassy. The slightly matted fur did not move.
Libby settled herself in the grass, cross-legged, her elbows on her knees, chin in hand. Eventually, she noticed a minuscule flicker. She bent closer and watched fleas, which fed on the living, abandoning the carcass, some leaping off, some disappearing underneath, and even a couple of them crossing the surface of the corpse's blind eyes.
Next, the flies descended, buzzing and settling upon the creature, especially around its eyes, ears and nose. It had died with its mouth slightly open, the pink tongue showing swollen and dark. In crept a fly, glistening blue-black, and another, moving about, probing with insectile feet and mouth. The kitten's body crawled with insects, alighting and flying ellipsoid orbits. Libby removed the string from the cat's neck and returned home by dinnertime so as not to jeopardize her experiment.
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