Screams at Dark

There’s a type of cicada, known as Magicicada. They only emerge once every 17 years. No one knows the true reason why there’s such a long period between their arrival.

Some theorize that they emerge when something profound and good is meant to happen. Some think it signifies a bad omen.

I met my husband, Bart, ‘bout 51 years ago. After we wed, we made a home. He built the whole goddamn thing himself. With his bare hands.

Blood, sweat, and tears stained that wood before we ever painted it. He’d insisted on sturdy boards, boards that could stand the test of time. Sure, they were expensive, but they were worth it. The place we’d come to call home withstood the hurricane season no problem.

After the first 34 years, he wanted to build a barn. Said it ran in the family to own cows, pigs ‘n chickens. He’d put it off, as he explained it, to make sure I’d made my dreams a reality before he tried to make his own come true.

And he did it, sure enough, the bastard worked through blazing sunlight, freezing rain, and wind so strong it snapped our little line of pine trees that guided any visitors down our driveway.

After a long and brutal hurricane season, the barn stood tall. Dark brown oak boards, beautifully glistening in the sun with the new coats of a primer he’d put on.

“Henrietta,” He’d said, sipping on the fresh lemonade I’d made for him. “What color’d you wanna paint her?”

I’d glanced at him from the island in our kitchen for a moment before returning to chopping tomatoes. I was watching the gelatinous membrane clinging to the seeds desperately as I responded, “Oh Bart, hon, she’s yours. You pick the color.”

He’d smiled for a moment, the glass inches from his lips as he exhaled out of his nose, “What ‘bout classic red? Maybe trim the som’bitch with white?”

I smiled as well as the toaster went off, snatching the browned toast and setting it on a plate. Quickly I spread some mayonnaise onto both pieces of toast before laying the slices of tomato on the one side, “That sounds nice, hon. You gonna wait till the weekend? We have bowling tonight.”

He’d looked over at me, visibly smacking his lips and awaiting his lunch. “Of course, sugar, we got plans. We stickin’ to ‘em,” His brow was sweaty, skin tanned from the sun. I could see near the base of his neck that he’d started to burn.

I shook salt onto the tomatoes. With a quick tap, I’d flipped the other toast on top of the tomato side and pressed, making sure it was together well enough.

He shook his head, “D’need to cut it sugar, I’ll eat it the way it is.” I smiled and brought him the plate, handing it to him and nodding to his empty glass.

“Need a refill?” I watched him closely, waiting for his blue eyes to find mine again.

“Bring the pitcher, sugar. I’m parched,” He took a large bite after he’d bowed his head and prayed.

It took him the entire weekend, but he’d managed to get the barn painted. I’d offered a few times to help or get our neighbors involved. But, Bart was particular, he wanted things done his way only. He painted a certain way, just as he built things his way.

I had gotten restless one night after he’d finished painting the barn and went outside to clear my head. I sat on the porch and lit a cigarette, inhaling for a moment and exhaling after it started to get uncomfortable in my lungs.

There the barn stood, looming at the end of the driveway. I placed the cig between my lips and tilted my head. It almost looked like the building was moving. Musta’ been my imagination, was all I could figure.

A few more puffs and the cigarette was gone, I’d stamped it out before exhaling my final cloud, still staring at the barn.

“Purty, ain’t she?” I spun around with a start, gasping as I laid eyes on Bart talking to me through the screen door.

“Hon, don’t scare me like that,” I felt my heart racing as I opened the door and moved past him.

“Whatchu staring at her so hard fer?” His voice sounded sleepy as he followed me back to bed.

“I couldn’t sleep so I went out for a smoke, Bart. No big’n,” I was avoiding telling him that his barn looked like it was breathing, not that he’d believe me.

“Sugar, it ain’t no big deal, I worked hard on her, you think she looks good?” He was standing beside the bed still even after I’d wriggled beneath the covers.

“Yes, hon, she looks great, come to bed,” I patted his side of the mattress and smiled for a moment before rolling over to face the other direction.

He’d stayed standing for over ten minutes afterward, long enough that I finally dozed off without him beside me.

The next few weeks were strange, Bart seemed distant like he was upset at something that I’d said. If he responded at all, they were one-word answers. Otherwise, he was quiet.

When he wasn’t in the house, planted on his easy chair, he was out in the barn. I’d tried to go and visit him a few times when he was in the barn but, each time I went, the door was locked. The windows didn’t open yet, so all I could do was peer in at him when he locked himself inside.

Each time I visited, he was hunched over a board or plank of some sort, sawing away at it. I couldn’t tell if it was the same one each time, but I was sufficiently worried about him after the third time I’d looked in.

After the sun had started setting, he came in like he usually did after putting his tools on the lawn in front of the barn and I confronted him. “Hon, what’s goin’ on? You mad at me?”

I could see it in his facial expression, he was about to dismiss me with a one-word answer again so I cut him off, “Nuh-uh, not again, motherfucker. You’re gonna talk to me like a goddamn man.”

I could feel my face flush with anger as I stared him down.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, “Nothin’, sugar. Ya did nothin’ wrong. I just ain’t feelin’ like m’self lately.”

I stared into his eyes even if he was glancing away from mine, “The fuck you doin’ out there all day? Huh? You cuttin’ the same damn piece of wood for three hours straight?”

“I’m tryna cut it just right, woman. Doncha go shouting that shit at me, I ain’t done nothin’ wrong!” He raised his voice as he finally made eye contact with me.

“Nothin’ wrong? Ya done said maybe four words to me the entire mornin’ and afternoon, I deserve to know why!” I planted my hands on my hips and narrowed my eyes at him.

“I done said more than four fuckin’ words to you, bitch. You lookin’ for a problem? I gotchur problem right here!” He shoved me, suddenly. I was so taken by surprise that I didn’t brace myself correctly and felt my back slamming against the cabinet behind me.

With the impact, I’d also bumped the back of my head on the handle of the cabinet, and the wood had splintered with my contact. I felt the room spin for a moment as I stared up at Bart, seeing that he was distressed, but I couldn’t hear him. There was a weird buzzing noise that drowned out all the sound in the room.

He left quickly after I’d failed to answer him, disappearing out the front door and running towards the barn. I could see him enter the barn door from where I was on the floor before I closed my eyes and tried to stop the room from spinning.

At first, I thought the sound I was hearing was the buzzing noise again, but I soon found out that it was something else entirely.

As I came out of my dazed state, I realized it was dark out. There was a long-drawn-out screech that hurt my ears before it quieted down again, only to start again shortly after.

I realized it was the cicadas Bart and I had heard together on a warm night over a decade ago.

I sat up, rubbing my head before standing and running to the door to start screaming for Bart. The barn was lit up inside and it made my stomach hurt just looking at it.

The cicadas were growing louder, their reprieves becoming shorter and shorter between each scream.

I stumbled towards the barn, picking up the ax from among the tools he’d left sitting there. The screams were churning my stomach, they felt like they were inside my head, like the space between my scalp and my skull was cicadas.

The ax was heavy, but I had to try and get him out of the barn. I chopped the fuckin’ door as though my life depended on it, agonizing over how hard it was to yank the bladed head from the wood before trying to break through again.

Beneath the cicadas, I could hear Bart screaming in unison with them. I moved away from the door, realizing that the oak was too strong for me to chop through. With as much force as I could muster, I swung the ax at the window and felt it crash through easily.

As I tried to climb through, feeling the glass embed itself in my knees and shins, I looked up to see Bart. Something was clutching him by his head and the cicada’s screaming crescendoed.

They were fuckin’ everywhere. The ceiling, the walls, writhing beneath the hay he’d lined the floor with. The barn was moving, breathing, it was as if it was made of insects.

“Bart! Hon, I’m comin’!” I felt my eyes blur with tears as the inhuman creature lifted him into the air.

Then all the sound left the barn and the light was swallowed by darkness.

Bart wasn’t there when I was finally able to see again, all that remained of him was a red splatter of blood.

I limped out of the barn, realizing that the doors swung freely now that the cicadas were gone. I patched myself up and cried for a while. I cried until my eyes stopped producing tears and my throat became ragged.

I’ve lived in this house that he built with his bare hands since then, watching the barn at night. I smoked a cigarette every single time, and I waited.

Seventeen years have passed and the barn is old. She had good bones, however, time had not been kind to her. The roof was starting to rot, too many seasons of not being tended to and fixed if a hurricane had hit it.

She’d become dilapidated, and I’ve watched her die slowly. Bart was taken from me because of her, it was only fitting that she suffers for it.

On the hottest night in June, I could see her starting to move again. It was like she was breathing in the spring heat. I glanced at the gas can beside me before grabbing a match and lighting my cigarette.

After taking a large puff, I flicked the match into the grass and observed as a blue trail of flame snaked towards the barn in a flash.

The screaming had started low before rising in volume as the barn went up in brilliant flames.

I watched the bitch burn, tears were streaming down my face as a lump developed in my throat.

“I love you, hon, goodbye.”