Aoife McConn & the Mysterious Moths

It was a bitter autumn night in the country and I - aspiring author, Aoife McConn - was spending it in the most inconvenient and not-so-cosy way - hauling bags of groceries up the hill in the dark, drenched up to be knees in mud. SIght was a luxury i didn’t have. The world was encased in a blanket of black, a deep eldritch void that many hid from within their homes and luckily for me, there were no lampposts anywhere near my house (gotta love rurality).

I thought living in the middle of nowhere would be fun and quiet, that I'd be able to hear the birds chirp at dawn and crickets buzz at dusk, but it actually just meant I'd never have any phone signal and I'd have to hoard enough supplies for a month or two. Oh, and those distant noises that sound like someones having their fingernails ripped off one by one? Probably just a deer.

Sluggishly, I clambered up to my front door and lumbered in; I was half tempted to give up there and then and just slept where I stood but no, had to make dinner.

The kitchen was dirty as usual, grime filled every crevice and there were so many bugs crawling across the windowsill that I might have to start asking them for rent. As the kettle boiled, I made up a delightful little dinner, pot noodle.

Though, now hear me out, it was just as I was pouring the boiling water that I noticed something rather odd in the window. The shadow was curious, deer never normally had the guts to come up here, so what was it?

Gingerly, I clutched my hands close and peered lightly through my cornflower kitchen curtains. Conniving roots of fear erupted from the tiles floor in a moment of pure ecstatic terror and coiled like snakes around the caked mud of my legs. As my heart beat faster, I became more and more fixed to the spot, paralyzed by the ever growing asphyxiation of my own emotions for what I'd seen through the window was unlike anything.

A looming grotesque face pierced my soul with it’s beady pitch eyes. It was daunting and distorted like when you see your own reflection in murky water. But oh, this was so far from human.

Stay calm, Aoife. Those words fluted about my mind, while the other half was being gnawed at with all sorts of anxieties. Just keep an eye on it and know where it goes.

Without looking away, I pulled up a chair and stared intensely with all the ferocity I could muster.

The creature sauntered around aimlessly in circles. Everytime it got close to the window, the hairs on my neck seemed to explode and everything felt cold - silly i know since i was safe behind the glass but it still freaked me out.

i eventually thought enough was enough, i was just imagining things, the dark is a tricky thing; but as i got up the creature darted out of sight and I heard an eerie low hum envelop my home. All the walls vibrated in tandem, cups were thrown from the shelves, a knife

or two almost got me decapitated. I turned to grasp my phone, no way was I staying here, when I saw something that sent a flush of icy dread through my veins- footprints...

They were muddy and inhuman, going in circles round the dining table, that creature wasn't outside the window, that was it's reflection.

Like leaves fall in the battering winds, I grabbed for my phone. Of course! No Signal! I tried the hallway and the stairs, the front room was next, but that was where the buzzing was strongest. I’ve read enough horror novels to know that I'd have better odds running out the door right now and letting the forest engulf me, but hesitating didn't matter as the door fell to its knees, off its hinges and surrendered me to not just one but a chorus of creepy crawlies.

They were chanting and dancing in a crazed like manner, swirling and twisting, contorting their grotesque bodies as if they were clay. I hoped they hadn't seen me, but the deafening thud on the door crashing to the ground caused an abrupt cease to their trance. All eyes on me and what did I do? Faint.

Yes, yes, very brave of me I know. But sometimes when you’re isolated and alone in a dreary little house, a cult of giant bugs seems very intimidating.

I awoke sometime later feeling groggy, it could've been hours or even days, all i knew was that the sky was now an ashy grey instead of harsh black. A sweet, intoxicating smell lingered about the room, as I got up to investigate I saw it was my room. Same floorboards that rattled in the wind, same tattered tawny curtains that framed the small window. Except there was one new addition, a giant bug stood in my doorway. In the daylight, it was clear that they were some sort of moth. It etched closer, watching me. Before it got too close I jumped out the covers and on top of the bed, trying to seem like more of a threat. It kept its distance but nudged something across the floor with a creak. I knew instantly what it was, breakfast! Starving, I fell to the floor like a hound and savagely ripped apart the meal, I hadn't quite realised how loud my stomach was growling until now. It was a fatty full english.

Stuffed and comfortable, I'd forgotten what loomed over me. In a fit of shock, I hurled the china plate at it as it let out a pleading yelp and ducked. Crash! It hit the wall and fell into a million tiny pieces. But they were sharp, that could be useful. The moth hurried timidly out of the room and shut the door behind it.

On my hands and knees, I gathered up the shattered plate.

Lunchtime rolled around, though I never ended up finding out what i’d get, as soon as the moth opened the door there I was thrashing and lunging at it like an animal with rabies. Completely feral. Hopefully, i landed a few good hits in, however i have no idea, the next thing i recalled was waking up again with the sky a new colour and the china plate shards all gone.

Breakfast was already in the room this time, served on a paper plate. Something seemed off. It was another full plate of meat and carbs, perhaps the moths planned to fatten me up and eat me. I was famished however, so i saved a couple of the bacon bits but threw the rest out of the window into the rain. Window opens, good to know.

That afternoon I left it open, a faint, almost ghostly, scent of petrichor floated it’s way around the cracks and crevices of the poorly cobbled together walls, as songs of dismal rain droplets pitter-pattered across the windowsill. I was utterly and completely alone, the kind of loneliness that presents a familiar liminality as if I was only imagining this room. The sky was dark and dull; the wind was no sweeter. It bit and spat harsh insults of ice through the fields just below. Lunch came through a small crack of the door. It was fruit.

If the moths weren’t trying to fatten me up, why the hell were they here?

Dinner passed and days too, I studied the routines of the moths. They’d kept their distance ever since my little violent manic outburst, but i still couldn’t figure out what they wanted.

At least 6 days in, I decided to simply try opening my bedroom door and just walking out. I sheepishly scanned the underneath of the door and saw nothing. The handle worked just fine too, i was lulled into a sense of ease, this was all going well. Maybe these moths were also nocturnal. Though the wave of calm was quickly shot down when I flung open the door to find myself nose to nose with a blank buggy expression. I quite literally jumped out of my skin and slammed the door shut.

Heart beating out of my chest, I hurriedly pushed all my furniture in front of the door. Though when I awoke the next day, everything was back where it was. It was hard to believe anything was real, everything was always the same. Although, my actions seemed to change things sometimes as there was now a lock on the door - goodie!

More days came and went and I was utterly fed up. I was no longer scared and pitious, I was angry again. Rage filled me as I worked, I'd been planning since Day 11. 3 grueling days of feigning compliance. I launched open my wardrobe doors, and rummaged through all the clothes. I bit and tore them to ribbons ferociously, and began tying them end to end into a sturdy chain, my blanket and pillow case too. My teeth, my sore and my hands were numb and yet I continued. I flung open the window eagerly, and threw out the rope as if it were rapunzel's braid. Fresh grass was like a tsunami in my sense, the smell alone made me feel as if I had already escaped, but just as I began my descent, disaster struck. Moths were patrolling the ground, at the sight of me they flew upwards and I was coddled back into my prison. I pleaded for hours, banging on the window, my cheeks clad in tears, my throat and eyes alight with ache. Eventually I must've passed out from exhaustion, that morning I awoke to find window bars, no clothes except the ones I had on and the tattered, worn-out remains of my bedsheet.

That night I hid in the wardrobe. Maybe I was still a little frightened, that ordeal days prior definitely made the moths mad. I heard them buzzing around, frantically looking for me. Snap, snap, snap. The window bars seemed to be breaking and I felt a whirl of wind rattle through the room. Creaks and stomps became fainter and fainter. Now was my chance, the window was open and the moths were someplace else, Finally, freedom!

I silently crept out of my hiding spot but there they were waiting, a pile out broken twigs on the floor. They knew I was there, they knew that would lure me out, they were trying to break me. I snarled at the nearest one and pounced. I didn’t care about damage, I just needed to prove I was still going strong. I chomped down hard on an arm, green puss filled my mouth. They retaliated of course, and I ended up waking up as if nothing happened.

As I approached week 3, I began feeling sick. Every day, I woke up sweating with vomit in my hair, my skin was itchy all over. The meals became more frequent and plentiful.

On day 22, I realised why. Multiple plates slipped through the door, all with scraps of my clothes on and large bowls of honey and fruit. I felt worse than before. It felt like something was crawling about under my skin. I was so itchy. And then my stomach began to ache so awfully I thought I was just going to die. It swelled and bloated, blood erupted from me as the itches began to crawl their way out through my skin. Agony. I screamed and begged for help, beady eyes of moths watched through the bars of the window. The moths weren’t planning to eat me or study me. I was the host for their larvae.