“Hell, I’m telling the truth. Old Lumpy came running out of the trees last Thursday evening, tail tucked between his legs. I started laughing at him, they way he looked all scared — I figured he pissed off a marmot or something. Anyway, this big son-of-a-bitch comes scurrying after him. Craziest thing, watching this beetle the size of that old hound come scurrying out of the forest.” Randy’s voice became a little distant. “The damn thing scrambled right over a downed tree, straight at me. I dropped the chainsaw right on it.” His coffee cup made a noisy clink when it hit the saucer.
“I think the only thing you’ve been dropping is a little too much of the old Kentucky vintage, if you get my meaning,” Darla said as she turned back to the counter and replaced the coffee pot on its warming plate.
“Randy?” I asked, standing now just a few feet from the counter. “Was anybody else out there with you?”
“Hell no. Pete and Manny totally turned on me. Won’t go out after talking to that kid — Lane. Shit, I’m not going back until I’m sure those damn bugs are gone.”
“I think you should call the sheriff. I mean if you _really_ saw something that big…”
Randy stood up, stretching all six feet of his barrel chest in front of me. “You think it’s the booze too, huh?” He pushed past me and exited the café.
I finished my meal in silence, walked home under a black umbrella against the rain, and called Lane.
“Hello?”
“Yeah, Lane. It’s me Rick.”
“Hey Mr. Grinnich.” The kid still called me Mr. Ginnich even though he graduated three years ago. “I called my advisor. He was out of the office for the summer session, but I left a message and emailed him some digital pics of the beetle.”
“That’s what I’m calling about. Randy was down at Pine Peaks today, and he claimed he saw another beetle. He said it was bigger and alive.”
“Really? They couldn’t get much bigger. The ecosystem just couldn’t support them.”
“Randy does have a bit of a whisky problem, but that wouldn’t make him hallucinate…”
“What time of day was it?”
“I don’t know — wait he said ‘evening’. I know he’s been working late, trying to make up lost time because of the rain. That and his workers have chickened out on him.”
Lane’s voice grew distant for a moment, like he spoke away from the receiver. “That would make sense, most species of Carabidae are nocturnal…Listen, I’m going to call Randy, see if I can go out with him tomorrow.”
“If it stops raining.”
“Of course. I want to see these things myself.”
After a slight bribe — a fifth of Jack Daniels, Randy agreed to drive Lane out to the woods. Lane called that night and explained the deal, and I waved them the next morning as they drove west on Kimberly-Long Creek Highway. It was early on Tuesday, and I jogged around town, my usual workout. Something floated in the air that day, something quiet and watchful. The trees seemed closer, pressing in on the edges of Monument, swelling the town to some breaking point. After the jog, I ate my breakfast at Pine Peaks and spent a good part of the morning camped at the booth in the corner. Darla seemed a little distant that morning — distant and brooding.
Sheriff Kress came in around ten. “Mornin’ Darla.” He turned to me and nodded. “Mornin’ Professor.”
“Black?” Darla asked.
“Sure.” He settled onto one of the stools at the bar.
“Busy morning?” she asked while pouring the coffee.
“Not so much. A couple of calls on dogs.”
“Strays?”
“No. Old Elmer Nowlan’s mutt got torn up by something. Probably just some over-aggressive raccoons, but it was a bit of a mess. The Hernandez family can’t find their dog — that old German Shepard…Zeb.”
Something clicked. “Sheriff,” I said while standing and walking toward the counter, “did Randy Crouse ever report anything strange to you? Call you about some large insects?”
“Bugs? No.” He sipped his coffee. “What would I have to do with bugs?”
“These are big. We brought one to Albricht’s place, had Lane take a look.”
“Randy hasn’t said anything to me. How big is big.”
I sat down on a stool next to the sheriff. “The one I saw was about the size of a shoe.” I held my hands up for a visual aid. “Randy claims to have seen larger specimens out in the woods.”
“Randy has claimed a lot of strange things over the years.” He stood, dropped a few coins on the counter, and patted me on the back. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, Professor. Thanks Darla.” He strode from the café, climbed into his truck, and pulled away.
Early that evening, the quiet seemed to swell and fill the little clearing occupied by our town. I sat on my porch, trying to enjoy the end to a rare, cloudless day. It was the sort of day I’d moved to Oregon to find, the sweet pine smell, the buzzing aliveness from all the trees and close wildlife, but I felt anxious. I had been nervous since Randy and Lane left that morning.
I was startled by the shots — not the first time I’d heard distant gunfire, but this series of pops pushed all the blood from my veins for some reason. The sound came from Deer Creek Road, echoing through the valley to the east. I hurried down the hill toward Main Street, knowing that the sheriff would be there if he was in town.
Darla stood on the sidewalk wiping her hands on her apron. A few other townspeople, maybe a dozen, stood around in the gathering twilight, mumbling about the gunfire. Pete and Manny were there, by each other’s side as usual. Nancy Albricht, Lane’s mom, held a cell phone to her ear, pacing a small segment of walk just down the street from the café.
“What’s happened?” I asked Darla.
“Don’t know. I just heard the shots. Nancy’s worried, trying to call Lane.”
A slight pop sounded in the distance, and the lights flickered and went black inside the café. Darla rushed inside. The sun started to slip past the crooked lip of trees in the west, and a punishing silence crawled into Monument. A brooding silence.
“I got Lane. They’re on their way back.” Nancy crushed the silence with her nervous voice as she hurried into the small throng of people.
Darla stepped out of the café. “We aren’t just without power. The phone’s gone too.”
The sun completely disappeared behind the pine trees on the horizon, dropping night’s heavy blanket on Monument. I thought about walking back to my house up the hill, but the dark streets worked against me. I felt safer in the group of people. Clouds started to roll over the little piece of yellow moon in the sky. My stomach tightened. I looked at Nancy. “I think you should try the sheriff on your cell phone.”
Before she responded, someone in the group asked, “What’s that?” Everyone stopped breathing for a moment, listening to the shadows all around. A small scrabbling sound, like twigs scratching against asphalt and concrete, crawled toward town from the east. I turned to look, just missing the headlights as they rounded the curve behind me.
“Lane!” Nancy hollered, hurrying to Randy’s truck. The small gathering was blown bright from Randy’s headlights, and most looked pale and unnatural under the beams.
“Mom, look, what’s everybody standing around for?” Lane asked as he hopped down from the passenger seat. “You look like you’ve all seen a ghost.”
Nancy hugged her son.
“Awww, Mom…” Lane pushed away.
“Did you find anything today? Any more beetles?” I asked, moving closer to Lane.
He rubbed his blonde hair. “Yeah, but Randy couldn’t find the big one that he went Texas Chainsaw Massacre on the other day. All we found were shells, like the beetles had been molting…growing. Like the cicadas. A bunch of them. But no live ones.”