Fireflies

Two brothers struggle to tame the beast.

Original art by Brian Reindel

That summer it grew hot and humid, but the rain refused to fall. It’s the kind of weather that only knows how to suffocate and offers no promises of respite. To make matters worse, we lived in an old home without central air. While our friends escaped the oppressive rays of sunlight in chilled bedrooms, my brother Wade and I shared a dilapidated metal box fan circulating warm air. We fought constantly over its placement, as well as our proximity to each other in relation to its position. The fan rattled in response and mocked our predicament.

We argued over nothing of significance through July and into August, knowing that we could not curse the unbearable heat, so we cursed each other. Our age difference didn’t help the situation. Wade was three years older, not close enough to share a common bond, and not far enough apart to form an admirable brothership. That damnable summer stoked the fire kindled by our disparate interests and growing divide. Wade’s death finally extinguished the flames.

“I’m not going to babysit you, jerk,” Wade said.

“I can take care of myself,” I said.

“The only reason I’m bringing you along is because Mom and Dad made me. They don’t want you around either.”

I didn’t respond as we hopped onto our bikes, but caught the sneer gathered on Wade’s lips, evidence that he thought he’d hit on some deeper truth.

“I hate you,” was all I could think to say.

“Same,” he replied.

His words stung, even though they rang hollow, spoken in a season of discontent. I still wanted a brother that liked me, who wanted me close inside his sphere of influence, not one who rooted for my defeat. An idea to force his hand bubbled to the surface of my mind, concocted based upon the predictable methods he used to humiliate me around his friends.

The sun dipped below the horizon as a group of us boys readied for a nighttime game of hide-and-seek. The temperature was expected to drop in the next few hours, which made it cool enough to ride out the day and spend our conserved energy chasing each other through the lush, well-watered lawns of a small retirement community. Residents were in bed early, making it the perfect grounds for play.

We agreed upon boundaries, stressing that the woods were off limits. Old maple and birch trees lined the rear of the properties, a ghastly forest, accompanied by dense underbrush that could swallow you up to the knees in burr weeds. Those prickly thistles that stuck to our clothes and skin kept me honest. In truth, nothing could make me wander off alone into the midst of those tall guardians with thick arms, swaying in the wind, ready at any moment to smash down on unsuspecting trespassers.

“Youngest is ‘it’ first. Give us five minutes to hide. You think you can count that high?” Wade asked me, which elicited snickers from his friends.

“Whenever you’re ready,” I said.

He expected a protest, some call to democracy, a vote or random choice that allowed another seeker to be chosen. I didn’t bother because I had no plans to find any of them, a trick to test the thickness of his resolve, to see how far I could push before he had to admit he cared about his only brother — if only for a fleeting moment. I knew where to hide after the five minutes passed and had no plans to reveal my location no matter the consequences.

Every home had a back deck raised off the grass high enough to slip under and still see out of the space at the bottom. I was the only kid small enough to fit, so I inspected the first few houses and when I was confident nobody was watching, shimmied under with a perfect view of the woods and several backyards. Flood lights were all on motion sensors, indicating when someone came close, a prospect I didn’t expect any time soon.

The deck provided shade to the soft Bermuda grass beneath, the thin blades a cool cushion underneath my body. I laid my head down and watched quietly as the cicadas sang in the treetops and a few toads croaked approval of my plan. My eyes grew tired, strained awake and then shut completely. When I opened them again, a barrage of tiny buoyant lights, blinking asynchronously, filled the night. The fireflies floated gracefully, at ease, their bioluminescent abdomens signaling to one another, instinctual and without conflict. I envied them.

I became mesmerized by the dance of lights until a putrid smell, a mix of electricity and sulfur assaulted my senses. A series of bright flashes lit up the deep woods, rays of light shooting out from a central orb, which faded as quickly as they arrived. Then a low-pitched hum grew in volume until it too faded out, leaving only silence. In an instant all of the fireflies lit up simultaneously, an odd, impossible sight, until I heard the popping sounds as each insect burst. It reminded me of Pop-Its on Independence Day, little snappers that I would never enjoy again.

When none were left alive, I heard shuffling in the woods, a few twigs breaking, and a gust blew through the trees. Some of the smaller saplings bent slightly with the wind, revealing the shadow of a tall, slender figure, hovering. The creature, as it was — since it could not possibly be human — wore no clothing, its skin a shimmering hue of bluish gray. Worse than the horror of not knowing its origin was that it stared in my direction with large, soulless black eyes and no mouth. While I could not be guaranteed it knew my location, the shock of its presence kept me frozen in place. I was startled when I heard Wade call my name.

“You’re dead! I know you’re hiding and when I find you, I’m going to make you pay,” Wade said in hushed anger. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

The creature kept his gaze focused on me and then drifted slowly backward, not like a frightened animal, anxious of being caught. It moved like a predator, to lay in wait. When Wade approached, he stopped near where the creature had appeared. He listened to the fresh rustle of underbrush, looked cautiously into the woods and then disappeared into the blackness.

“You think you’re going to scare me? Just remember that I can outrun you. Nothing’s going to stop me from pounding you,” Wade said.

I would love to believe that the boy hiding under the deck was too scared to speak up, in shock, unable to comprehend a questionable reality. But spite kept me from shouting out to Wade. He needed to experience the torment of the beast. The summer swallowed what remained of my compassion as I succumbed to the temptation of silence, leaving behind a snake that eventually slithered out from under the deck and walked nervously into the woods. I was no better than Wade, who laid in a clearing on his back, peaceful like he decided to take a nap.

Time passed, but I couldn’t determine how long. I stood there looking down at my older brother, not knowing what to expect, forgetting why we were even there. Would he rise up and hug me, grab me by the ankles, give me the pounding he promised?

“Wade,” I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

A beam flashed behind me, a metronome of light that kept even tempo, searching, likely for another victim. I waited for the creature to attack, to punish me for my transgressions, to lay me down beside my brother so we could reconcile in death. Instead, I felt a hand on my shoulder, human, a gentle touch.

“Son,” the old man said.

I looked up at him, tears streaming down my cheeks. He focused the flashlight over my brother’s body and went to check his pulse.

“Oh, Lord, glory be, he’s not breathing,” he said.

The old man pulled out his mobile phone and called 9-1-1, and then began to administer CPR, pumping my brother’s chest, trying to revive him. My ears rang and vision blurred, muffling out the eventual siren, voices of police officers and paramedics, and the questions from Wade’s friends. I could offer nothing in response, mute, even to my parents in the hospital later as the doctor explained the effects of shock — the same hospital where Wade had been pronounced dead, and seven hours later in the basement morgue miraculously started breathing again.

A week later, I stood beside Wade’s hospital bed while my parents ate lunch in the cafeteria. The festering anger, a byproduct of the oppressive heat that once controlled me, no longer existed. In its place lived the quiet resignation of a sibling happy to be alive, now troubled by uncontrollable circumstances. Looking into Wade’s expressionless eyes, no emotion could be detected, and he returned the same soulless stare as the creature had. 

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” Wade said.

“I don’t hate you.”

“Me neither.”

We didn’t speak about the woods or the creature. Fear of what I knew to be true kept me silent. I didn’t want to ask, either, as I was more interested in repairing our relationship, hopeful that we could be the brothers I envied. At what cost, I didn’t really understand. Wade was no longer human, although the shape of his body, his voice and mannerisms fooled everyone. Was it worse to have the real brother I detested, or an imitation that molded itself into the brother I desired?

We talked about school starting, the new comic book shop opening a few blocks from home and convincing our parents to buy a second fan so we wouldn’t have to share. Several plinks on the window caught my attention. I turned to watch in silence as water dripped down the glass and the rain fell in sheets, an invitation of forgiveness, washing away the sins of the old world I desperately wanted to leave behind.

When I turned back to Wade, he smiled, and his pupils flashed from solid black to hazel. The smile remained. My brother’s smile. At least from what I remembered.