Suspenseful Tales Part 2

Their new room was a deluxe suite, but it still wasn't as nice as the Hyatt. Anthony didn't care anymore. He only wanted to sleep and drive home tomorrow. At least the air conditioner worked.

When he turned the handle in the tub, the water flowed cleanly. No bees.

No wasps or any of their ilk buzzed around the lights, either.

The room appeared to be safe.

However, something nagged at him. As he showered, he began to think.

Why hadn't they seen any bees last night? The night before, not one bug had invaded their room. Why so many today? If there were, indeed, hives in the room's walls, wouldn't the hateful insects have revealed themselves from the start?

Anthony knew he was an especially smart man-brilliant, even. He had graduated summa c.u.m laude at the University of Georgia, and third in his cla.s.s at Emory Law School. He was accustomed to being envied for his intellect and flawless education. In his opinion, a handful of people, like him, were simply better eguipped than the average person to achieve success and solve problems. He was a member of the vaunted Talented Tenth, one of the leaders of the ignorant ma.s.ses.

But even his refined intelligence could not explain this bee situation. He didn't like being unable to explain things. Ignorance was not blissa"it was weakness.

Karen was asleep by the time he stretched beside her on the bed. He was too worn out to ask for any loving.

He clicked off the bedside lamp and lay with his hands folded behind his head. One minute, he was gazing at the dark ceiling, pondering the inexplicable insects . . . and the next, he was dreaming.

In the dream, he was at the family reunion picnic, serving as gatekeeper. The old woman. Sis Maggie, suddenly appeared in front of him, without her guide girl. He asked her why she was there when he had already told her that she wasn't a friend of the family, and when she parted her lips to answer, a swarm of hornets poured out of her mouth, buzzing madly, and they enveloped him like a storm cloud; covered his face and neck and arms and legs and crawled up his nostrils and into his ears and between his lips, stinging and stinging and stinginga"

He erupted from the nightmare, shouting.

"Baby, you okay?" Karen touched his arm.

He was panting, dipped in cold sweat. He thought he felt insects creeping over his arms, and he rubbed his skin. Nothing there. Just a dream.

But he thought he heard a faint buzzing, as if the creatures from his nightmare had followed him into the real world. Was he imagining the sound?

"Tony?" she said, sitting up.

"I'm fine," he said. "It was only a dream."

"About what?"

"Oh, that old heifer who came to the picnic, Sis Maggie. It's nothing, go back to sleep."

"You p.i.s.sed off that root woman," Karen mumbled, drifting back to sleep. "Now, she's sending you nightmares ..."

"That's nonsense."

But Karen had fallen asleep. Anthony, however, was too wound up to rest. Keeping the light off, he slid out of bed.

The ghostly buzzing did not subside, which meant that it was not a figment of his imagination. He turned around, trying to determine the source of the noise. He walked toward the window. The buzzing grew louder with each step.

Hands trembling, he parted the curtains.

Honeybees covered the window. Dozens of them. They wriggled and swarmed across the gla.s.s, their strange, beady eyes fixated on him.

It took all of his strength for him to stay on his feet.

"This is impossible," he said, in a whisper. "It's night, bees aren't nocturnal creatures, they're supposed to be asleep ..." His voice trailed off. His throat was tight.

Slowly, he put his hand against the gla.s.s.

The bees buzzed angrily. They stabbed their stingers against the window.

They were eager to get him, to sting him to death. Just like in his nightmare.

Legs trembling, he s.n.a.t.c.hed the curtains shut.

The buzzing ceased.

Terrified, but curious, he peeled away part of the curtain.

The window was clear. It gave him a view of the parking lot, the highway beyond, and the pale full moon above. There were no bees, anywhere.

Which was impossible. The insects could not have vanished, instantaneously.

Chills overcame him. He stumbled to the bed and wrapped himself in the sheets.

His aunt's voice came to him: You shouldn't have done that to Sis Maggie, Tony. That old woman is known for working roots-and she holds terrible grudges.

Backwoods, superst.i.tious bulls.h.i.+t, Anthony told himself, over and over. Bulls.h.i.+t, bulls.h.i.+t, bulls.h.i.+t. I'm too smart to believe that nonsense. I'm too good for that. There has to be a logical explanation, there has to be.

But by the time he finally fell asleep, an hour later, he still had not found it.

"Tony did you get any sleep last night?" Karen asked, as they got dressed the next morning. "Your eyes look blood shot."

"This bed kept me tossing and turning." He slid on his Nikes and began to tie them.

"This mattress is like a slab of rock."

Her eyes were concerned. "Hmm, I slept fine. You think it's because of the nightmares you were having? You kept waking upa""

"No," he said, and yanked the shoelaces so tightly they nearly snapped.

Karen sighed loudly and went into the bathroom.

He knew that she was annoyed at him for not sharing what was on his mind. Well, tough. He wasn't the kind of guy who talked about his emotionsa"as far as he was concerned, doing so was a sign of weakness. He dealt in facts. If it couldn't be proven, it wasn't worth his time.

So if it looks like a curse has been slapped on me by an old, evil woman, is that worth my time?

He shut down that train of thought before it inched forward any further.

He finished dressing, downed a cup of the vile-tasting coffee they supplied in the hotel rooma"due to him getting so little sleep, he'd need to slam his system with caffeine to stay awakea"and grabbed their luggage, to take down to the car.

"Be ready to go in five minutes," he told Karen, who was still messing around in the bathroom. Of course, she probably wouldn't be ready in five minutes. The woman was so habitually slow she'd be late to her own funeral.

When he opened the door, before stepping out, he checked both ways for bees, wasps, anything like that. All he saw was a monarch b.u.t.terfly fluttering nearby. Good.

He reached the parking lot without incident, too.

Their black Mercedes Benz sedan s.h.i.+mmered in the morning sunlight, the s.h.i.+ny surface pearled with dew. A glance around the parking lot confirmed that he owneda"by fara"the most expensive vehicle on the premises. It was a rea.s.suring feeling, like finding out that an old, favorite pair of slacks still fit comfortably. He was back in charge.

Smiling, he pressed the b.u.t.ton on the key chain to unlock the trunk.

He had lifted the trunk lid a couple of inches before he heard the furious buzzing, coming from deep inside. As if a monstrous hive awaited within.

A chill trickled down his spine.

No, it can't be. Yesterday was just like an unexplainable, bad dream. It can't be happening again today.

He quickly slammed the trunk shut. He took a step away from the car, as if the trunk might explode open on its own.

"What is happening to me?" he muttered. "What in the h.e.l.l is happening?"

He remembered what happened last night, after they had switched hotel rooms. They had not found any bees in the room, but he had dreamed of that hag, Sis Maggie; and saw a swarm of hornets erupt from her black mouth.

And then he had looked out the window and found it completely covered by bees, in the middle of the night. When he looked again a moment later, the insects had vanished. As if he had been hallucinating.

He would have preferred that the bees had been real. The possibility that he was losing his mind was terrifying.

"I am not going insane," he told himself. "I'm too smart for that, I graduated at the top of my cla.s.s from Emory Law, I'm a top notch corporate attorney, I earn overa""

"Tony, I thought you'd be ready to go. What are you doing?"

It was Karen. He hadn't realized that she had approached. She stood in front of their car, wearing a puzzled expression.

He stammered. "Uh, I wasa""

"Come on, we have to go or we'll be late for breakfast." She plucked the keys out of his hand and pressed the b.u.t.ton to unlock the trunk. "Why didn't you load the bags in the car?"

He had frozen, his gaze riveted on the trunk. Karen reached for the lid.

"Don't do that!" he shouted.

But he was too late. Karen opened it.

But the trunk held only a couple of small plastic bags, a pair of Karen's sandals, and an Igloo cooler.

No buzzing bee hive.

As was their family reunion tradition, the day after the big cookout, they always had Sunday breakfast for those who would be driving out of town that day. His Aunt Janice hosted the gathering at her home in Hernando.

Tony sat in a quiet corner of the living room, a paper plate heaped with congealing eggs, cold bacon, and stiff grits sitting at his feet. He had no appet.i.te. How could he eat when he was clearly in danger of losing his mind?

He couldn't wait to get home and lose himself in the comforting, familiar world of his law office, where order ruled.

Ever the busy hostess. Aunt Janice spotted him and came over, probably to nag him about isolating himself from the rest of the family, most of whom were enjoying breakfast outdoors.

"I just talked to your wife, Tony," Aunt Janice said. "She tells me you were having nightmares about Sis Maggie."

He dragged his hand down his face. Karen could never keep her mouth shut.

"I'm fine, all right?" he said. "I need to get back home."

Aunt Janice's brow creased. "These nightmares are a bad sign, sugar. You ticked off that old woman yesterday, and I told you that she works roots and holds terrible grudges. She's worked some kinda evil spell on you."

"Evil spell? Come on, don't tell me that you believe that backwoods superst.i.tious c.r.a.p."

Aunt Janice shook her head. "Doesn't matter whether you believe it or nota"that old lady's powerful. You'd best find her and apologize, that's the only way you might put an enda""

"I've heard enough of this nonsense, I'm ready to hit the road," he said, and stood abruptly. "Where's my wife?"

"She's outsidea""

Anthony marched out of the house. He found his wife on the patio, sipping orange juice and talking to one of his younger cousins, a girl who was only twenty-three, a college drop-out, and had something like five or six kids. Relatives like her were an embarra.s.sment to him. He couldn't even remember the girl's name.

Karen was probably blabbing to her about his nightmares, too.

A breeze blew, carrying the aroma of smothered potatoes to him, and his stomach growled, unexpectedly. He hadn't eaten a thing since last night.

I'll grab a quick bite to eat, he thought. Then we're getting the h.e.l.l out of here.

The breakfast food was spread on a long table at the edge of the patio. He picked up a paper plate and reached for the potatoes, which simmered in a lidded, silver pot.

When he removed the lid, he discovered that the potatoes were infested with crawling wasps.

He yelped like a panicked puppy.

Like fighter planes, the wasps launched off the pungent base of smothered spuds and buzzed through the air.

Anthony stumbled backward, waving his arms wildly, violating every rule of how to ward off angry insects.

But they didn't attack him. They darted toward his wife.

"Karen, look out," he said, but his voice, strangled by terror, came out in a hoa.r.s.e whisper.

Probably drawn by the sight of him waving his arms, Karen looked up.

By then, it was too late.

She dropped her gla.s.s of orange juice. It shattered against the patio floor, a nerve-jarring sound.