Bats and Spiders

A note from the author: The illustrations for this story have been generously provided by Russian artist Sergei Zolotov. If you notice inaccuracies in the details, please understand that it was a linguistic challenge for him to read through the story. Consider it artistic license. If you would like to see more of Sergei's work, he can be found on DeviantArt under the name of ColorBlindPencil.

Prefacio

El general dio alto a su caballo y se voltio a ver aquél que se acercaba. “¿Capitán, que curiosidad se ha encontrado? Espero que no estemos gastando tiempo sin razón.”

“Con su permiso, mi general. Parece ser un saco de manta. Los soldados descubridores han dicho que estaba colgado en los ramos de un árbol cerca al Río de Las Nueces.”

“¿Y que diablos hacían allá? Ah, han de ser los exploradores. Mándales órdenes que se acerquen más a la compañía. ¿Bueno, y había más?”

El capitán desató los cordones cuidadosamente y miró adentro. Luego metió la mano y sacó unos papeles sueltos y comenzó a recorrerlos con la vista.

El general hizo muecas, “¡Hay, que misterioso! Ja-ja, probablemente es otra amenaza hacia mí. Anda y entrega esas cosas con el cura, y dile que haga lo que quiera con eso. Y que no quiero saber mas.”

Y así montado en la silla, el general miró hacia el norte con mucho pensamiento. En un suspiro se oyó decir, “San António, aquí vengamos.” Y se limpió el sudor de la frente con un pañuelo ya sucio.

El padrecito recibió el saco de manta, y leyó los papeles. Al hacerse la señal de la cruz finalmente, tal como un sacerdote, los recogió en el mismo saco, se tomó la mano de una mujer que viajaba con sus niños, y se huyó hacia el noreste.

The Preface

The general stopped his horse and turned to see the one who was approaching. "Captain, what curiosity have you found? I hope we are not wasting time for no reason."

"With your permission, general. It seems to be a cotton sack. The soldiers who found it have said that it was hanging on the branches of a tree near the Nueces River."

"And what the hell were they doing there? Oh, they must be the scouts. Send them orders to get closer to the company. Well… and was there more?"

The captain untied the laces carefully and looked inside. Then he reached in and took out some loose papers and began to look them over.

The general grimaced. "Oh, how mysterious! Ha-ha, it's probably another threat directed at me. Go and give those things to the priest, and tell him to do what he wants with them. And that I do not want to know any more."

And so, mounted in his saddle, the general looked north with much thought. In a sigh, he was heard to say to himself, "San Antonio, here we come." And he wiped the sweat from his brow with a dirty handkerchief.

The humble priest received the cotton sack, and he read the papers. Having made the sign of the cross finally, as a priest only would, he gathered them up in the same sack, he took the hand of a woman who was traveling with her children, and he fled to the northeast.

The Priest’s Translation

A sensation of impending evil–

It is what I feel, as if some unseen entity has found its way inside of me and has planted images and thoughts, feelings of dread and devastation – terror–

No, I am not insane. It is what I have seen. It is something beyond any nightmare. There probably is not much time, but I will try and tell it all.

About a week ago, as I slept, I was aroused by a strange looming sound. It reminded me of the cooing of mourning doves, with a flowing, immeasurable tempo… like the babble of a stream. It had an awful intense effect on me, filling me with alarm and trepidation. I felt as if I had just been awakened forcefully from a dream, and I was almost immediately drenched in a cold sweat.

And Raquel was there... sleeping... young, sweet Raquel.

The sound had grown louder as if it was nearing, and I moved closer to the window… and for no reason that I could discern, I seemed to be terrified of what I might see. And then the sound began to fade back, so I moved the curtain in time to see a dark cloud of some sort slipping away into the night.

The following morning was foggy… damp and sticky. Not having slept well, I lay in bed until I was awakened by loud mournful weeping, coming from outside. I listened without interest and heard people shouting something about a young boy drowning in the river. I got up and went to the window.

There were three men and two women talking excitedly. One of the men was holding a small limp body. They were crying loudly and shivering. It was cool and damp out, to be sure, but they were in the thrall of a dynamic shock that physically gripped them.

I could see the body of the boy, bloody and slashed all over. Parts of his arms and legs had been torn away, and his throat was completely mutilated.

Raquel worked as a maid for the Dunn’s, and she informed me later that she overheard some talk where it was said that the body had been found "by" the river and not in it, confirming my thoughts that the boy had not drowned.

She was very agitated when she came home that day, because she had seen a man in the park, Cavazos the butcher, waving one of his knives around wildly. And he was crying and laughing as if drunk or crazed and kept shouting some nonsense about bats and spiders.

A few days later, yesterday, in the rain, I watched Mister Clark and his wife, as they thanked the people for coming to their son’s funeral. It seemed as if everyone in the village had come… and everyone was weeping.

For what seemed like an endless procedure, I felt marooned in a world of rain and tears… the sounds of precipitation and lamentations seemed to become one, and the torrent of downfall joined with the grief in its inundation of the proceedings.

But you should know that I am an outsider here, and this was not my grief. This is a small community, Sandieu, in a harsh, nameless land, which is being fought over even as I write this. These people were all relatives, or friends, or neighbors. They all knew each other.

And I am a stranger. I was just passing through… running that is, running from my country. Yes, I crossed the river. I had to get away from all the fighting. I walked for days, and then I found this place, and Raquel took me in.

But I must not digress.

Little by little, people began to wander off in small groups and talked quietly. And then those groups broke up, and people walked away. Some hung their heads in sadness, and some shook their heads in disbelief.

They were bewildered, and I kept hearing them asking each other questions that left them more bewildered. “Why do these things happen?” “How can this be?” “What does it all mean?”

You must forgive me if I seem detached somehow. But I have come from a world where I saw hundreds of men blowing each other up and goring each other with bayonets and machetes every day. And now, I am in a world where the very heavens seem to cry for the life of one child.

Last night, I lay, watching Raquel undressing herself in the light of the fire. And then we heard that sound. And then we heard people screaming. I noticed a strange coldness suddenly fill the room, and then a putrid stench. Raquel looked at me with wonderment. And the sound outside became louder and ominous.

We went to the window and looked. A young couple, the recently married Mendozas, was being attacked by a horde of small winged creatures. At first, they appeared to be bats.

Other people ran over to help them, but then they were also attacked and overwhelmed. The horrible things appeared to be biting and clawing, darting in and out quickly, and there were hundreds of them. I watched from the window, as five people were being eaten alive!

Resolving that I had to do something, I grabbed a little shovel, used for the ashes, and headed for the door. I glanced back and saw Raquel shaking her head, silently saying no.

And then I was outside, swatting wildly. But soon, I was overcome by the stench and the sight of bloodshed and carnage.

I am not a coward, you see. I just have a low physically reactive tolerance for gore… the sight of blood and open flesh, the display of entrails and bodily contents, and the smells… so strong, they find their way into your throat, and you are forced to taste them.

Suddenly, I felt a sharp piercing pain at the back of my neck. I tried swatting at it and failed. And then, I grabbed at it clumsily, and I dropped the shovel. I was swooning, and I remember falling to my knees and seeing Raquel darting out in front of me and pushing me backwards, trying to get me back inside. I saw her pick up the little shovel and bring it down on me, but she was aiming at the merciless thing that was piercing at my neck.

Some time later, we were both inside, staring at the creature lying on her table. She had somehow managed to nail the thing down on its back with a hatpin. I found myself in awe at her resourcefulness and tenacity, and I smiled at her with appreciation. But she did not notice. She was staring at the little monster on her table.

La Criatura (The Creature)

It looked more like a spider than a bat—a tarantula, which are common enough around here. It was about the spread of my hand, and it was furry and winged like a bat, with an abdomen that tapered down into a thick tail, and that flattened out in a little triangle. The abomination emitted a smell so foul and pungent so as to be felt and seen somehow in a very literal sense, making it almost unapproachable.

As I studied it, I was taken in by the soft and innocent appearance of its plump furry abdomen, and I felt compelled to reach over and stroke it… and then realized the creature was breathing! Five eyes, topaz-like and set in a bizarre pentagram pattern, opened at once.

For only a few seconds, Raquel and I watched as the creature struggled and freed itself. It had hands… grotesque little hands like yours or mine! Raquel had not been able to secure the pin deeply in the hard oak, and the little imp simply rocked it and pulled it out… out of the table and out of itself.

Then it righted itself and lunged at me, attaching itself to my right arm. It had eight fleshy legs, and each leg had a tiny hand with vicious little claws. These claws penetrated through my shirtsleeve and pierced my skin like elongated rose thorns. I saw the creature’s demonic face, as it plunged shiny black pincers into my arm, and tiny teeth between and around the pincers tore through the fabric and grated at my flesh.

I saw that Raquel was about to hit it with the little shovel. And when I looked back at the creature, it seemed to read my mind. And it leapt up at my face.

I grabbed at it and caught it just as its claws sank into my right cheek. The smell of it was moving me to gag, but I had it in my grasp, and I held it back so that its pincers could not reach my skin. Its claws began to rip through the flesh, as the creature tried to dig in deeper to get a better hold. I felt its abdomen, plump and warm and soft, somehow soothing on my cheek.

The creature made hissing and gurgling noises, and I began to realize something… that the tumbling, metallic sound that we had heard came from its wings.

When the creature moves its wings, it produces a sound, much like the click or snap that one sometimes hears in one’s joints or in some insects… except that this sound is more metallic and tonal. Several hundred of these things in flight produce a steady hypnotic stream of sound, which somehow arouses fear. And when they attack and flutter excitedly, the sound becomes loud, distorted, and terrifying.

And it appears that this is how they feed. They tear off what they can as they dart in and out, they do it repeatedly, and they do it very quickly and for as long as they have to. It brings to mind the feeding habits of a hummingbird. This would be the counterpart… from the darkness.

Raquel wrapped her hands around mine, and I let out a scream as together we tore the hideous little monster off my face, leaving long and bleeding gashes on my cheek. The creature struggled violently, twisting in my grasp, trying to wrench itself free.

I held it in front of my face and looked at it, and I could hear Raquel, yelling at me to get rid of it. I gazed deeply into the creature’s unblinking eyes. I believe it knew what I was about to do, and it hissed at me in a most vehement way. I reared back with it, swung my arm behind me, and flung the foul smelling thing at the wall as hard as I could.

I heard Raquel cry out and gasp as the creature splattered, sending out streaks of brown and black blood on the wall. It clung there momentarily and then fell, writhing and fluttering weakly. And it hissed and shrieked, filling us with repulsion and dread. The fluid on the wall glistened in tiny globules, which clung there like mucus.

The stench settled on our skins like a cold slimy film. As the creature neared its death, a dark vapor began to rise from its body. The thick smell of defecation and decay finally drove us out of the room. We collapsed in another room and sat there trance-like, listening to the chaos and the screaming outside.

Una Cosa Infernal en Vuelo (A Hellish Thing in Flight)

We never really noticed when the commotion ended. I came to this morning and realized the light of day was coming in. When I tried to get up, I felt Raquel clinging to my arm, which was still bleeding a little and very sore.

Supporting each other, we stepped outside, both squinting in the sunlight, and saw the street littered everywhere, as far as we could see, with dead and dying bodies of people, cats and dogs, horses and other livestock, and hundreds of steaming, stinking little black heaps.

Everywhere, the smell of blood and flesh… and little clouds of dark mist rising defiled the dead even further with their invasive stench. But the creatures were evaporating altogether. Perhaps, in time, there will be no trace of them. The nausea that came over me I cannot describe.

We began to see other people, wandering among the bodies, looking for corpses they might recognize, and sobbing madly upon finding them.

At one point, Raquel paused and gestured to a body, then brought her hands to her face and wept softly. It was her employer, Mrs. Dunn. Most of her face was missing, and her entire body was mutilated with lacerations and parts just eaten away. Raquel recognized only what was left of her clothing.

We kept walking along the street aimlessly. And everywhere is the same … death and mourning and pestilence. When we reached the square, we came upon the body of a man whom we recognized readily … the long knife still clutched in what was left of his hand. He stirred and coughed, and he gestured me over.

In his last seconds, he looked at me and mumbled, “Bats and spiders? Bats… and spiders?”

And while I could still feel his breath under my hand, I leaned close and said, “You took a lot of them with you. God be with you.”

I cannot say enough about Raquel… her courage and stamina… and her deep and quiet beauty. We have made preparations to leave this godless place. While she is looking for some last things, I have found a sunny patch of grass, free of dead bodies. And I have taken pen and paper in hand. This village is so isolated, I cannot say whether or not anyone else will ever know what has happened here.

I look up to think of words,

and I see her coming now.

Her black hair in the wind

a banner to that child in her,

and the sheen in her hair

a light that speaks the brilliance

of her courage and her spirit.

And then she stops as if to listen,

and I also hear……

the screaming in the distance,

and the tumbling, lingering,

non-melodic sound

of a hellish thing in flight.

A sensation of impending evil –

r. nuñez, 3/1986