Ladybug House (philosophies of fiction mingled with truth)

The place looked cheerful enough, not as run-down as the last three vacation houses, so I figured it would be alright. I pulled into the gravel drive and instructed the inmates to disembark. 'Are we there yet' had been playing consistently at two-minute intervals for the last hour and a half and I was more anxious to leave the car than the children were.

My tide of pint-sized miserables shot from the vehicle like their lives depended on it, racing across the yard, through the flowerbeds, and onto the porch of our summer retreat with enough energy to put the Energizer Bunny to shame.

"Don't trample the flowers; Get off the railing!" My 'Voice of Doom' had lost its potency about thirty miles back and none of the kids could hear it anymore. I fumbled through my purse, looking for the house key amid hundreds of discarded gum wrappers and rumpled receipts. Ooo, aspirin, better hang on to that...

Once the front door stood open, we all entered with a sigh of relief. I already needed a vacation from this vacation, but knew I had to check mattresses and plumbing before getting comfortable. The air inside had that generic 'closed up' feel that endemically accompanied summer homes. Never mind that someone had rented the place a week ago, it felt as stuffy as a cheap trailer in the Everglades--one that only alligators visited.

One by one, I opened windows and inspected the rooms. The air-conditioner wasn't working, but water flowed through the taps. All the windows had tight screens. The echo of children racing through the house grated on my nerves and I remembered to take my aspirin.

"Do NOT jump on the beds!" The noise of stretching mattress springs ceased and I could hear the whispered words of wonder, "How did she know?"

My smallest child found me in the kitchen, checking the refrigerator and stove. He held his finger out in front of him to display a squashed ladybug. An offensive smell wafted up and I wrinkled my nose.

"Did you kill that bug?"

"Yup."

With a wet paper towel, I wiped his hand clean. "Don't kill the ladybugs. They stink when you squish them."

He said something else, but I had stopped listening. The sink strainer was filled with dead ladybugs.

A blur of cleaning, changing sheets, unpacking, and phone calls to get the air-conditioner serviced left me weak-kneed by the end of the day. I fell into bed with no intention of ever rising again. --Until the scream dragged me up.

My youngest daughter stood in the middle of her bed, sheet pulled tight around her body and up to her chin. Her pitiful cries filled the room.

"What's wrong?" I asked, flipping on the light.

She pointed at the ceiling where about six ladybugs crawled over the light fixture. Another flew across the room and hit the window.

Buzzzzzz, TAP.

My daughter cried louder. "I'm scared."

"Honey, they're just ladybugs. They won't hurt you. Look." I reached to the window for one of the insects and stopped when her frantic scream grew louder.

"No, no, no, no! Don't touch them!"

No amount of consoling would get her to lay down until I dug out the vacuum cleaner and sucked all the bugs up into it. We checked under the bed, in the closet, and all around the window.

"All gone," I told her. "Will you go to sleep, now?" It came out rather harsh, considering all I'd been through that day. I would have pointed out to her that 'Mommy's just tired' but instead, I kissed her head and walked away. She'd sleep eventually.

I found a little boy in my bed, one who ought not be there, and a squashed ladybug wiped on my pillow. "Did you do this?" I asked, pointing at my pillow. He smiled and nodded. There are no nice words left in my mouth, so I kept it shut. On top of everything else, Little Boy needed a diaper change.

An hour later, the last light out, all the midgets have lost the battle against fatigue and I can only wish the same. I remembered to flip my pillow to the clean side before lying on it and close my eyes. Then I heard the noise. TAP.

Again, and again. Buzzzzzzzz, TAP. Buzzzzzzzz, TAP.

Where are all these freaking bugs coming from? I made a mental note to call an exterminator first thing in the morning and tried to block out the sound from my mind.

I dreamed of swimming in the river, cool slow water flowing around me, little fish darting below my feet and tickling my legs, my arms. I dove, mildly confused by the sensation of breathing under water, but such are the ways of a dream. The tickly fish swam all around, making me itch. It was the scratching that woke me. My hand landed on a hard, little lump, and another. The stink of squashed ladybug hit my nose; a crawly-tickly sensation spread over both arms and legs, and on my face.

I jumped out of the bed, screaming. Things were in my mouth, my nose, and I darted for the nearest light switch. They were everywhere, the ladybugs, all over the ceiling and walls, crawling over my bed, crawling over me. I can't shake hard enough, or swat them away fast enough. I'm pulled off my clothes, shaking bugs away, crunching insect bodies beneath my bare feet. The smell of their deaths reached my nose and made me gag. It was too much for me to stand there any longer. I wanted to run from the house and never come back.

The children...

The nightmare was not over. I raced into the other rooms to find each little child covered, head to toe, in insects. My eyes blurred as I pulled them, unresponsive, from their beds, slapping bugs away from their faces, digging red-black insects from their noses and mouths. When they woke, they cried, confused, tired. But when they saw the ladybugs, hysteria broke loose.

Not until I've scooped my last child out of his bed and have run from the house did I notice the blood. Hundreds of tiny welts, like bug bites, bleed along my littlest boy's skin. We left everything behind, driving forever to the nearest hospital to tell an unbelievable story, over and over, to doctors, police, and social workers. By the time anyone went to investigate at the house, all that remained of the ladybugs was a few dead insects in the sink strainer.



Now, what in hay have I been reading? you ask...

Nothing bad.

Ashes by Kathryn Lasky--

A historical fiction of a German girl during the rise of the Nazis. I thought it well done in the historical flavor department, but lacking in the overall, story-telling department. In other words: I didn't like the ending.

Fablehaven book 5, Keys to the Demon Prison by Brandon Mull--

Loved it. Highly recommended reading.


That's all for now, my Internet friends. Join in next time, when Robin says, "Holy Cow, Batman!"