Hornets and Others

'Yes, I know.' The voice was a bit harder-edged.

'I didn't chop her up and put her in a blender.'

Silence.

'Should we be talking further about this, Mr. Kerlan? With perhaps a lawyer present?'

'I didn't kill my wife, detective.'

Almost all of the civility was gone from Grant's voice. 'Didn't you, Mr. Kerlan?'

'I didn't.'

'Can you blame me for thinking such.. .well, horrible thoughts?'

'I can't, but you're wrong. If Ginny is dead I didn't kill her.'

'Do you think she's dead, Mr. Kerlan? After what I've said?'

His voice caught. 'I don't know. I hope to God she isn't.'

'I'll be in touch, Mr. Kerlan,' Grant said, and there was an ominous note to his voice.

The line went dead.

Tomorrow, Peter thought, the previous night's dream coming into his head. He said I'd see her tomorrow.

He worked the rest of the day and into the evening in a fog. Two more complete Sam Hain outlines rolled across his monitor, along with sketches for three more which already begged for his attention. And all the while he heard the faintest of buzzings, going so far as to stop his feverish work at one point and search his office. But no matter where he searched the buzzing was faint and out of reach, and finally he went back to pounding the keys until exhaustion made him stop, with yet another moon, even fatter, rising across the window over his desk.

Without eating, he fell into bed and dreamed again of the black shrouded specter, the bleach-bone fingers gripping his shoulder, the whispering voice, dry as August in his ear: Tomorrow...

He awoke to Halloween.

Even after all that had happened, the day was somehow different than all other days. He noted a slight cooling in the air, and saw with surprise that the sky was the deep sapphire blue of a true Autumn day. The radio promised dropping temperatures all day, into the forties by dusk. Perfect Halloween weather.

Across the Street the Meyer kids were busy, along with every other kid on the block. The streets and lawns were full of children, mounting decorations, stringing pumpkin shaped lights, transforming the neighborhood into the festival of orange and black it always became. Pumpkins seemed to have sprung up everywhere—not only on stoops and porches but in windows, perched on flower boxes, back decks, and, at one house, lined along the entire front of the house, an orange army guarding the lawn and fallen leaves. At the house next to the Meyers, a huge spider web of pale rope was being erected, pinned from the highest bare tree limb and stretching to the house's gutter, anchored in three places on the ground to make it stretch like a sail; two boys were hauling a huge and ugly black plastic spider from the garage to set in its lair.

A steaming mug of coffee in his hand, Peter watched the frantic progress that would continue all day and culminate in a wonderland of Halloween by the time the moon replaced the sun.

He felt the first tendrils of cold weather coming, and shivered for many reasons, turning to go down to his office and work.

When he entered he heard insistent buzzing, and the chill down his spine broadened.

It's got to be in my mind.

He sat down before his monitor and began to work.

Another Sam Hain outline. And another. Sam and Holly on Mars. Sam and Holly Meet the Undergrounders. Sam and Holly and the Halloween Comet.

The buzzing wouldn't go away.

Morning melted into afternoon. Through the open casement window he heard shouts and laughter, and, finally, felt a cold breeze which deepened to the point where he had to close the window. For the first time since the previous winter, the house was chilly. Somewhere upstairs he heard the heat tick on.

Have to close those windows later.

At the casement window, leaves rattled against the screen, and something else bumped it and stayed.

A hornet.

He stared at it, as another joined it, crawling, half flying, almost hopping, from the left of the window to cling to the screen.

What the—

The hornets, looking sluggish, crawled off, one of them making an attempt at flying before falling back with the aid of the wind to cling to the screen before dropping from sight.

He remembered what the bee-keeper had said: that they would be active until the first cold spell, which would slow them down and then kill them off.

Another hornet appeared, and another.

With effort, he turned his mind back to the screen and continued to work, pausing to bundle what he had done for the day and send it as an attachment to Revell. He was rewarded with an almost instantaneous return email which effused: 'keep 'em comin', son! They love everything I've showed them so far! You'll be doing these wonderful things for the next ten years—THE KIDS WILL EAT THEM UP!'

He erased the message and went back to work.

In the back of his mind, like a growing hope, was the promise of the dream, that today he would see Ginny.

Please, he thought, please let her come back.

But the buzzing sound increased, becoming insistent, almost angry now. He paused once, thinking to do anything necessary to make it stop—rip the walls out, burn down the house, but the computer screen drew his eyes back:

Sam and Holly and the Texas Tornado.

Sam and Holly Meet the Leprechauns.

Sam and Holly and the Hornets of Doom.

He stopped, breathing hard, and stared at the screen.

That's it, he thought. Enough.

He pushed himself away from the desk, turned in his swivel chair and got unsteadily to his feet.

The buzzing sound was getting louder.

'Stop!' he shouted, putting his hands to his ears.

He pushed himself from the office, stumbled to the basement stairs, somehow dragged himself up to the main floor.

The house was dark, and cold, and suffused only by orange light from outside.

For a moment he was disoriented. Then he remembered it was Halloween.

He staggered to a window, closed it, and looked out.

A wonderland of orange met his eyes.

The lights in the neighborhood had been lit—strings of them in trees and across gutters and around door frames, orange and white. And all the pumpkins had been carved and lit with flickering light—the world was filled with sickle grins, some with crooked teeth, all with round or triangle noses and evil triangle eyes. As he closed another window he could smell pumpkins, their scooped insides sweet-cold and wet, the smell of whispered cinnamon, allspice.

For a moment he was lost in the smell and lights, and tears ran down his face and he was cold and helpless

Ginny, come back to me!

The doorbell rang, a jarring, booming sound, and he stood rooted for a moment before stumbling over Ginny's things in the hallway to get to the door.

Maybe it was her!