A whoop of laughter from Maggie informs Iris that the argument on the street has ended. Either that, or Horace has made a remark in his defense that has proved inadequate. With a faint smile, Iris shakes her head, draws on her cigarette, and scoots back on her knees. There is only one latch on the box, and it looks ancient, but Iris knows it is still functional. Tonight will not be the first time she’s opened it.
She snaps the latch, absently wiping the dust on her shirt, and eases open the heavy lid.
Inside, snug in their cotton beds, are a dozen small jars.
Each one bears a label, but they all say the same thing: TIME FLIES.
Trapped within all but one of the Mason jars are insects, miraculously still alive despite the amount of time they’ve been cooped up in there. Iris has kept this box beneath her bed for years, ever since she discovered it buried beneath a loose concrete slab in the ruin of what passes for the building’s back yard.
At first, she’d thought it was exactly what it looked like: a small chest freezer, or a cooler, but then her imagination led her by the hand to more extravagant and exciting possibilities. Maybe some bank robbers hid their loot in there. Maybe it’s packed to the brim with jewelry. Impatient, and at the mercy of childish excitement, she opened it, only to find it full of nothing but what she assumed were lightning bugs.
The flies press against the glass, as if they know they’re in her thoughts. Their bodies begin to glow a queer violet color. Iris smiles. They never fail to cheer her up, even when the weight of her sadness seems too much of a challenge for them.
“Hello, my friends.” She picks up one of the jars and holds it in front of her face, watches them take flight again inside their little glass prison.
She wonders what would become of these strange little creatures, should she dare to let them out. It is an idea that has occurred to her before, but she has always managed to convince herself to wait. Someday, she has always promised herself, she’ll find out what they are, and whether or not it’s safe to release them.
Someday.
Her smile disappears.
Always someday, never now.
And now everyone is gone.
With an uncertain smile, she walks her fingers up the glass toward the lid.
The insects follow.
About the Author
Kealan Patrick Burke is the Bram Stoker Award-winning author of The Turtle Boy, The Hides, Vessels, Kin, Midlisters, Master of the Moors, Ravenous Ghosts, The Number 121 to Pennsylvania & Others, Currency of Souls, Seldom Seen in August, Jack & Jill, and Theater Macabre.
Visit him on the web at: http://www.kealanpatrickburke.com or http://kealanpatrick.wordpress.com.
Copyright
Copyright 2007 by Kealan Patrick Burke
Kindle Edition
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Find More Titles by Kealan Patrick Burke at the Author’s Amazon Page
Copyright © 2007 by Kealan Patrick Burke
The section of this novel entitled “Saturday Night at Eddie’s” was previously published in a slightly different form in The Number 121 to Pennsylvania & Others, Cemetery Dance Publications, 2006, and in e-book form in 2010.