Sweets to the Sweet

Marty watched the flailing birds with such intensity much like I watched the slug that I had impaled with the spike. That was when we realized that these birds were going to die unless we found someplace for them, because they were being smothered by each other. "Bret," Marty looked into his bag with this saddened look on his face. "Most of mine are dead, I think. We have to take them someplace or let them go. Otherwise they will all die."

We were sitting under a shade tree wolfing down strawberry taffy by the handful. "Listen Marty we can just let them go or we can take them someplace cool," I don't really know why we couldn't just let them go, but for some reason this made sense to me. "We can go and put them in my dad's storage shed. They should be fine there. Then tomorrow we can build a cage for them." This seemed to make sense to Marty and as it was said so it was decided.

This day started off relatively cool, but then by midday it started warming up really quick. By the time we had decided to take the birds to my father's storage shed, it must have been pushing close to 100°.

"Hey Bret! Do you think we could sell some of these birds?" I looked back at him as he was swinging the bag at his side. Sweat was streaming down his face. "I mean we can keep a lot of them, but it seems stingy to keep them all to ourselves."

I was trying to keep my bag as still as possible because I knew how hot I was and the birds in this bag must have been feeling worse. "We gave some away. So we aren't being stingy. Let's hurry because I know these guys must be really hot in these bags."

The familiar ringing in my ears returned as we started in at a run towards my house. I was sweating and my bandaged arm began itching. I held my bag to my chest trying not to shake it around that much, while Marty threw his over his left shoulder and didn't mind if it bounced around.

When we were close to the end of the street my house came into view and we slowed to a brisk walk. We past by little Peter's family's home, a neighbor of mine that I had not seen all summer, and then passed by my aunt's house before we got to my house.

Marty and I made our way up the short driveway and into the backyard where the storage building sat. Thankfully my father never locked the darn thing and with a quick tug on the door it swung open.

The seriousness of our situation was not evident until we put the bags down and opened them one at a time. I half expected the birds to jump at a chance to get free from the confines of the bag, but none did. Up ending the bag and pouring them out onto the floor, they fell like pieces of dried fruit.

There were a few that were moving and making a sickening noise that made me think of a heavy wooden door opening whose hinges needed to be oiled. The smell that filled the room was worse than a wet dog smell in the summer.

"Hey lets go get something to drink." Marty had his first good idea of the day.

"Yeah you're right. They may just need something to drink." I replied.

This won a laugh from Marty who up ended his bag, spilling out motionless birds adding them to my pile. "No Bret. I meant let's go getus something to drink."

"Oh," was my reply. "But Marty what are we going to do about them?"

He had started back to my house, but then stopped and looked back at me shrugging. "They are probably just too hot to move. Some of them look like they are sleeping so let them sleep. Let's get us something to drink and cool off for a bit then we can come back and bring them something to drink. They should be up by then."

I don't know why I believed him. Perhaps it was so form of denial, but I wanted to believe that they were alive and just sleeping or knocked out by the heat. But there was this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me differently.

I followed Marty into my house and we both got us something to drink. I saw that Maggie was on the couch asleep and Marty was also watching her. He's eyes had a strange look about them, something that I had never seen before in a seven year old eye, but I had seen it plenty in older kids.

We sat down in front of the television and started watching cartoons, we were seven after all, and forgot all about the birds. That was until my father returned home a few hours later.

When my father drove up the driveway he was not alone. There was a police car following him that had its lights on. I looked around at Marty only to find that he was gone. I figured that he had gone to the bathroom and turned my attention back to the window.

When my father got out of his truck and walked back to speak with the officer I finally remembered the birds.

"Oh man the birds!" My heart was pounding in my chest because I knew that what we had done was wrong.

I was still looking out the window and could see the officer pointing in the direction of Mr. Edward's home.

"What's up little brother?" Maggie had awakened and seen the look on my face.

"There is a policeman here talking with dad!"

"So what, he must have been speeding or something." She replied.

I had to get rid of the birds and so I darted out the back door. The door to the shed was ajar and Marty was nowhere to be found. I swung the metal door open shrank back in horror.

A putrid stench that hit me as I pushed open the door and I peered inside. It was so revolting that in fact that I almost threw up in an instant. They had been in that small metal building for the better part of four hours with no ventilation and those that had been alive when we left them there were now long dead.

The building acted as an accelerator for decomposition because of the extreme heat. Ants had found their way to the dead bird corpses and had begun to pick them clean. Flies had also found the moist bodies of the parakeets and laid their eggs there.

That was troubling on its own, but what really got to me was the way the birds were laid out. The biggest was in the center and the smaller ones were arranged in a circular pattern around it. It was just like what I had seen in the tent at the carnival.

"The bird that would be king, if it had survived." A voice told me as I stared at the dead birds. That was when I saw the center bird move. It did not move much, but it did move.

Thinking that it may still be alive I searched for a stick and poked at the pile of steaming feathers. When the stick touched the bird it seemed to break open and maggots spilled out from the bright blue feathers. I poked at the other birds with the same result. The maggots were feeding on the tender flesh of the birds. They were still newborns, but they ate the rotting flesh with such vigor that all Marty and I could do was watch.

"Oh my god! Bret! What have you done?" My father's voice came from behind us, breaking the spell that the dead birds had on me.

Tears began to stream down my face as I realized that I was the cause of this. Maybe not the sole cause, but because I helped Marty these birds were dead now. I could not believe what we had done. What I had done.

Nothing was said about the birds to my mother or sister. At least if something was said they did not mention it to me. Mother came home from work and asked me how my day was and father seemed to come home later and later. He was working a side job for some extra money, this he did often enough, but I could not help but think that I was the reason he did not come home.

This man, my father, could not face his son, the bird stealer, so he stayed away as long as he could. When I tried to talk to him he would just look at me like he didn't know who I was anymore. But it had occurred to me that perhaps it was him that was different.

It had been two days since my father had found me in the shed with the dead birds and since that time I had watched my mother sitting on the front porch waiting. I knew she was waiting for him to come home, but there was something else there I think. Something else was going on behind closed doors and I was too naive or too young to realize what that something was.

"Mom, where is daddy?" I asked her as I sat with her on the porch scratching at the spot on my arm.

She replied to me in an instant as if she had rehearsed the answer, "He's doing some brick work over at the Johnson's place. He'll be home soon." This is what she told herself. "Stop scratching dear."

"You know tomorrow is the last day of the carnival." I didn't know if this was the right time to bring this up, but if not tonight then I would never make it the carnival. I was watching the grass blowing rhythmically in the gentle breeze popping a piece of homemade cinnamon sugar candy that my aunt had made into my mouth. It dissolved quickly as my tongue pressed it against the roof of my mouth.

"Oh really?" was her only reply.

"Yes. And you still haven't met Marty. Remember me telling you about him. His family works at the carnival." I was talking fast now as sweat breading at my brow despite the cooling breeze. "Well I was thinking that since it is your day off tomorrow that you could take Maggie and me, just the three of us."

"Just the three of us," she repeated to herself.

I heard a sound like something moving in tall grass. The moon was out tonight and its light shone down lighting up the surroundings. It was bright even though it was not completely full. The moon has a way of doing that in small towns away from the bright lights of the big city. On a clear night under a full moon one could see surprisingly well once the eyes adjusted.

My eyes had already adjusted to the light of the moon and I began to see shapes moving across the ground. They were black shapes about the size of newborn kittens, but they were fast moving from patch of grass to patch of grass and then behind an almost leafless bush.

Mother did not seem to notice this, she just repeated herself again. "Just the three of us," I heard her sniff and knew that she was crying again. Her shoulders heaved and then I knew that she this was because of father.

There was another shape scurrying across the gravel covered ground in front of the porch, but this time instead of darting for cover it just stopped when I focus on it. There was a ticking on my shoulder like that of the spider that had attacked me several days before. I was terrified and could not force myself to look to see if indeed it was another spider.

The thing on the ground ten yards away looked much like the hairy spider that had bitten me, but the light was too dim and the thing was too dark to know for sure. There was a familiar burning that returned to the mark on my arm along with the tapping on my shoulder.

"Mommy?" the tone of my voice broke through her grief. "I think there is a spider on my shoulder." Panic had already formed a lump in my throat and I was finding it hard to swallow.

"Don't move Bret and let me take a look." She moved around me and looked at my shoulders with a look of fright in her eyes. She studied my shoulders intently and then with a sign of relief. "I don't see anything dear. Turn around and let me check your back just to make sure."

After a careful once over she gave me the all clear. This left me puzzled because I had felt that ticking and the prickly legs brushing up against my bare neck. Just thinking about it sent shivers down my back and caused the hairs on my neck to stand on end.

Truck lights streaked across the front of the house as father turned into the drive. I noticed the black shaped scattering as the dusty green ford pulled up and stopped next to the chain link fence that outlined the front yard.

With the light from the headlamps I was able to see the thing on the ground more clearly. I shrank back in horror realizing that it had not been my mind playing tricks on me, but had been a great black spider staring at me.

Its front legs tapped on the ground in the same rhythm that I still felt on my shoulder. Even as it slowly started to sidestep towards the open gate of the fence the tapping continued. The thing was so huge that I could hardly believe what I was seeing. It must have been the size of an adult cat or small dog. I thought for sure that mother would see it and shout a warning to my father, but no such noise came from her.

What did come from her was a sound more like a grief stricken widow made when putting her beloved lover into the ground. She took one look at my father, made the wailing sound again, then turned and ran through the screen door into the house.

There was something different about my father that night and I guess mother had noticed it too. He closed the truck door and walked through the gate passed the massive spider that lay motionless next to the open gate. It did not make a move towards him nor did it retreat from him.

There was a spring in his step and he was whistling some tune that I had never heard before. The moonlight reflected off his dirty light blue short sleeve shirt. My father was a well built man that never failed to get looks of awe and respect from both men and women. He worked as a brick mason for all his life and the end result was that of bulging biceps, thick legs and a broad muscular back.

My gaze returned to the thing at his feet, but in the instant that I took my eyes away it had disappeared. Father walked of the three cement steps onto the porch.

"Hey Bret how are you doing tonight?" he stopped and leaned against one of the many brick posts that stretched from floor to ceiling.

This was very odd because gone was the contempt that he had shown me over the past few days. It was as if he came home a different man. My father was a stranger to me and I did not know how or why.

"Mom is upset for some reason." With this statement his expression changed. "Is there something going on?" I asked.

An expression something like pain crossed his face. "I don't know what do you mean?" But before I could clarify what he meant he had moved back down the steps, out the gate and around the side of the house to the shed.

I went inside only to be greeted with my mother's quiet sobbing. I could not stand to hear her and it seemed that everyday she cried more and more. There was thumping coming from Maggie's room from her rock music. I could not stand rock music either, so I went to my room.

I performed my nightly ritual of searching my room for monsters and serial killers. I lifted the covers and looked under the bed. After looking in the closet and behind the reclining chair I went to the window to lower the blinds and close the curtain. That is when I saw father out at the shed. He had been rearranging things in the shed and I guess he had gotten too hot because he had taken off his shirt.

I watched him for a moment and then realized there was something different about him. On his back was what appeared to be a series of fresh wounds. There were streaks of blood down his back. They looked like the bite mark I had on my arm, but these were in a circle pattern between his shoulder blades.

I watched him enter shed and he did not come out for a long time. I found myself dozing while I sat there at the window. When he came out of the shed and had his shirt in his hands. My eyes were closing when he turned to close the shed door and witnessed something that would haunt me all night long. There on his back was the huge spider that I had seen earlier that night.

It was poised between his shoulder blades with its legs dug into the skin of his back. He did not seem to notice or did not care and I think that is what frightened me the most.

That night laying in bed those bites on my father's back haunted my dreams. The darkness in my room had life. The blackness on the walls was moving like a wall of glistening night crawlers. The wall moved in waves making shapes out of nothing. There was the spider sitting on my wall.

It sat on my father's back sinking its teeth into the flesh of his back. It must have felt my eyes because it turned its attention to me and looked at me with its eight shiny eyes. There was that familiar tap with its front legs. I could see the blood dripping off it fangs as it cleaned them one at a time with its mouth. The black tendrils on the walls twisted and turned in a fan like motion and the picture changed.

Now it was an Egyptian coffin, but instead of having a withered boy's body in it, there was the drained body of my Mother in it. Her body was covered with spiders. They scurried up her bare chest and down her naked legs.

There was movement behind the coffin and Marty stepped out smiling. I tossed my head back and forth because Marty had six shiny black glistening eyes that were staring at mother. He opened his mouth and two thin long fangs came out from the sides of his mouth. He leaned over my mother with those fangs waving over her face.

The skin between the eyes tightened until it tore. There weren't six eyes but two giant bulbous eyes that were fixed in the center of his huge egg-shaped head. As he leaned over my mother the shirt on his back was bubbling with activity. It was like boiling water.

The torrent motion of the shirt on his back increased and built to such intensity until it burst, spilling out thousands of tiny black spiders. They washed out of the meandering wall like ants out of an anthill. The image changed again, but this time he saw the small town of Winters from an aerial point of view. There at the point where the CornerStore was stood a shadow in the shape of a man.

The shadow spread out his arms and like a torrent river it spilled out over the land. It reached its dark hands out over trees and fields until it covered everything living and dead. My eyes moved lower and as I looked closer I could see tiny legs beating the ground, jumping from limb to leaf and devouring everything in its path.

There was a sound that accompanied those spiders that sounded mechanical in nature. It was the clicking of metal on metal, almost like the sound rain made when the first droplets hit it during a summer shower.

I continued to lower closer and closer to the spider covered ground. I had seemed immune to fear floating high above the ground, but as I neared the ground fear stabbed at my insides. It twisted around my stomach as I could smell the musky smell of insects. There was a vibration that moved the air the closer I got to the busy bodies.

Just below me the spiders began to slow and even some stopped entirely as if they could sense me and still without control I got nearer to them. I was seven feet above them and some of the beasts started jumping towards me like a child stretching for a piñata. Just hoping to grasp a hold of a piece of clothing or limb so it could claim its prize.

Two, three and four jumped at me and soon there was a pile beginning to build as others sensed me. They had come to join in on the fun. I tried pulling away, but I was no longer in control of my movement, if I ever had been in control. As the arachnid pile too shape one managed to hook its legs onto my dangling shirt and climbed around to my back.

He was king of the hill, the spider who would be king until another managed to catch another part of me. I don't know how long it took or how many had breeched the distance and climbed onto me, but there were a lot. I could feel their tiny legs tickling my arm and neck. They were exploring my body like some new country. They crawled across my face and inspected my ears and nose. My arms were useless and I was powerless to stop them.

I opened my mouth to scream and two of them took this opportunity to venture in my dry horse mouth. Their hard bodies resistant to my biting teeth, but I was not so resistant to theirs. They bit my tongue and the inside of my mouth.

That was when I knew it was hopeless and I dropped. Like a stone in a still pond I dropped and was swallowed by the black waters. Their legs combed the hair on my head and their fangs sunk deep into every inch of my flesh.