The Queen of the Cicadas Read online

  We invited the preacher to the tree to say a prayer at noon. Without hesitation he agreed. He had been there that day, and saw Milagros’s dead body with his own eyes. When he arrived, he stopped short, looking forlorn and distant.

  “It’s beautiful, Belinda. I’ll do my best to find the words to match this gift.”

  We held hands and bowed our heads in prayer. The insects chirped and sang with no other sound around us. As Pastor Rich spoke his voice cracked. He stammered, searching for the right thing to say. I could tell the vision of Milagros had lived with him every day of his life. How was anyone the same after that? We left in time to greet the new guests from the SyFy Channel, who were due at the farm for filming.

  The crew of three, two men and one woman, showed up smelling like aired-out weed with glassy eyes. They were a bunch of kids who found IG video fame filming haunted places all over the US then given a show by the SyFy Channel. All three wore horror film t-shirts and ripped jeans that had probably been bought that way. Hector just wanted to get this obligation over with. His sleep didn’t come easy, and when it did, it didn’t last long. The trauma of Mexico was affecting him in ways I didn’t dare to ask because I didn’t want to admit that I wanted La Reina to make an appearance. My morbid fascination was only growing by the day, feeding something inside of me that had an endless appetite. I held so much sorrow for Milagros the woman, but the strangeness of it all captured my curiosity, numbing me to the fear and horror. Something else was at work. We were not terribly alone on this planet, resembling fruit left to rot in a bowl. The slow exsanguination was already being felt and seen around the world. I hated being alone more than anything.

  The SyFy trio brought their own candles, black cloth with a white pentagram in the middle, sage and all the other things that would make for good, spooky TV.

  “No one said anything about a séance or a Ouija board.” Hector was sweating profusely while towering over a guy who looked young enough to be my son. His skin looked as oily as his scruffy hair.

  “Look, man, it’s not a big deal. It’s a cheap piece of shit I bought on eBay and there really is nothing here. Lighten up. It’s just a show. Plus, you’ve already been paid.”

  Hector knew he was defeated. He needed that money to get him through the low season. Buying this property was a decision made with his heart instead of his brain wired for business. He’d invested his entire net worth in refurbishing and maintaining this farm. He brushed roughly against the guy they called Josh and the cameraman named Bo and went straight to his room. Josh continued setting up props with Maxine, the pretty young woman with hair dyed a shade too black. They kept the lighting to a minimum with candles so they could switch to night vision made famous by a certain sex tape made by a blonde socialite. Sex and tragedy sell.

  I followed Hector to his room. “Hey, want to talk?” I asked through the closed door.

  After a few seconds, Hector opened the door. His face was a mixture of anger, fear and exhaustion. The strong wide jaw looked jowlier and his eyelids hung lower than usual. He needed to sleep.

  “I’m scared. I don’t like this stuff. I’ve been around it all my life and I’ve tried to distance myself. It really creeps me out. My grandmother told me things in the past, how there’s a line as fine as a mark drawn by a sharpened pencil that separates white and black magic. You know what determines that? Us. We are the magic we make, our intent, the way we manifest things. I’m so scared of making the wrong decision, of being part of that dark instead of the light. The things I’ve done in the past. Those bonuses on Wall Street don’t come easy. Don’t even get me started on my college days. Then after all that stuff in Mexico. The blood…. It was probably shock, but I swear that blood looked just like the lake near my home, Lake Catemaco, and their bodies were the mountains. I wanted to touch it. Am I a sick bastard or what?” His hands were wet with sweat when I reached out to clasp them. Why didn’t I feel the same sense of dread?

  “We’ve just experienced something traumatic. It’s okay to be scared.”

  “You’re not scared. You don’t seem to be as freaked out by this.”

  That hurt. He could see the puncture he made into me.

  “I’m sorry. That isn’t what I meant. I don’t know how you can handle yourself with all of this.”

  He was right. It was strange. Since arriving at the farm, I had felt somehow disembodied, a ghost that didn’t know she had already died, but at first I took that for my self-loathing and depression. Now it was more like a journey of discovery. Inner knowledge. Dare I say peace?

  “I don’t know. I stopped trying to control things or figure it all out because all I do is fuck things up. And don’t talk to me about college. I’ve probably fucked more guys than you. Let’s go down and be part of this. Have some say in this. I’ve got money saved if you need to kick their weed-smoking, little punk asses out of here. I have your back.”

  If there was going to be a séance, Hector would be involved. We double-checked that the bathroom door was locked as per his grandmother’s instructions. It was time to start the show. We took our places on the sofa away from the cameras as Maxine and Josh kneeled on either side of the coffee table in front of the lit fireplace that made the entire room uncomfortably warm. This would be aired during Halloween, so they insisted on the fire to add a sense of the season. Hector kept dabbing his face with a white handkerchief.

  “Hey, everyone! Josh and Maxine are here with this vintage Ouija board in a house that has possessed true horror and a farm that is said to be cursed. Will we contact the spirit, or will it get to us first? They say La Reina de Las Chicharras was murdered here and is the new Bloody Mary.”

  Ugh, reality TV. I felt angry at their tone. I guess I expected them to treat this whole thing with a little more respect. Perhaps do some research on all aspects of the story. If it was up to me, I would have thrown them out for that shitty intro. Despite all I had seen in Mexico, I still didn’t really believe anything supernatural would make an appearance. I wanted there to be, but realistically it was all just spooky coincidences. Did I get a strange sensation while standing over those dead bodies? Yes, but when I think back to it, it might have been mild shock.

  Hector’s hand shook as it squeezed mine when Maxine and Josh placed their fingertips on the planchette in the middle of the board. Before anything could happen with that cheap piece of cardboard, we heard a click, followed by the distinct sound of a door opening. The youngsters looked at each other and smiled. Hector jumped to his feet, mad as hell with an excuse to kick them out.

  “All right, who’s up there? I didn’t give anyone permission to stage anything.”

  “Nobody, man! It’s just the three of us.” Josh locked eyes with the cameraman, then flicked his head towards the stairs as he rose to see where the noise was coming from.

  “No! Don’t go up there!” boomed Hector.

  The young man bounded up the stairs before Hector or I had a chance to catch up. The cameraman dashed quickly behind. Before we reached the top step, we heard a loud crack followed by Josh’s body falling from the top of the staircase. Maxine screamed. Hector rushed down the stairs. The cameraman kept filming, focusing on the body splayed on the floor in a broken, contorted shape of bone through skin. Josh’s skull and mouth leaked blood, with chunks of brain matter splattered like a halo. Dead eyes fixed on the ceiling. The cameraman continued up the stairs and I followed behind, holding my stomach. I found this scene more frightening than the one in Mexico because I knew there wouldn’t be a frail old woman at the top of the stairs.

  “Who’s there?” I demanded from the dark of the opened bathroom door.

  Under the sound of the young woman screaming for someone to call an ambulance, I could hear running water. I still had a small death wish when my emotions got the better of me. I needed to see. The cameraman filmed my back and the darkened room. He could have no part in this. I turned to hi
m.

  “Go to Maxine. You should care more about your friends.” I could see the desire for internet fame in his eyes as he glanced at the room then back towards the stairs, but I wasn’t about to have another body here. “Go, you asshole!” Fucking kids these days. He ran down the stairs to comfort Maxine while Hector paced back and forth on the phone near the body.

  I put one foot in front of the other, ready to see something that would give me nightmares. Instead it was just an empty bathroom with the tub a quarter full of water. As I reached out to turn off the faucet, I could feel someone behind me. I knew it couldn’t be anyone in the house because I could still hear their voices downstairs and the distant sound of sirens. Chicharras and moths pummeled their wings against my stomach lining, poisoning the acid that wanted to rise to my throat. I turned off the water. The door slammed behind me. I felt my way around to find the light switch. It didn’t work. I was in a vortex of darkness. If my inner turmoil, my self-hate, could exist, it would look like this. Alone and not alone in the bathroom, I was standing in a place that looked how I felt on the inside, but I felt strangely relaxed in this dark box without light. I let go of my fear and remembered the first time I held my child in my arms with blood and vernix coating his face. It was the face of pure love that I’d somehow lost along the way on my journey of mistakes that I called life. It was a place I had to return to. What a nice last thought. I put myself in fate’s hands. Surrendered.

  I turned to confront whatever was there, even if it meant I’d be dead in an instant, like Josh. Something wet and sticky touched my cheek. A sharp point that could have been a knife or nail traced my jaw. I could tell any more pressure applied to my flesh would cause real pain. My chest trembled. I didn’t know what was in here with me, in my weightless darkness.

  “I can feel you want to die. Do you know how many souls that reside with me would do anything for the life you live and the life you have left to live? Poor Milagros never had a chance.”

  “You aren’t Milagros?”

  “No. I am the Queen of the Dead, Mictecacíhuatl. Milagros is here with us. She is inside of me, growing stronger every day. For years her name has been whispered here. For years she has fed on the living, slowly and patiently so as not to attract attention. We, the quiet women with a great rage on the verge of breaking loose to be something else.”

  The sharp end and sticky padded flesh moved from my cheek to my neck to my breast. It was comforting and even a bit sensual and exciting. Death’s touch was arousing because I had no fear of it. Her voice had the smoothness of a stocking, with my curiosity tightening around my mind like a garter.

  “Your skin is so soft. The shade of brown is beautiful. You should not hate it so even if you are made to believe it is not good enough. That wickedness must end,” she whispered.

  I wanted to reach out and touch this manifestation of death, this woman. Her power intoxicated me. The power was familiar. That sensation filled me whenever I achieved what I set out to accomplish before I dimmed my pride because I didn’t think I deserved it. From the tone of her voice, I knew she did not mean to harm me. Josh didn’t last this long before she discarded him.

  “What do you want?” The question was tainted with the thought of sex as she continued to knead my breast, the tip of her sharp nail teasing my nipple. I wanted to know what all of this meant. Who was I in all of this? Up to now I had seen three dead bodies and none of it had fazed me in the least. Was I that dead inside too?

  “The gods only reveal their plans when it is the right time for them. You really think this is all about you? Selfish child of a baby universe with so little knowledge of the things far from here.” She moved her hand from my breast to between my legs. “Your purpose has always been there. You will know when the time comes.”

  I was fully aroused as I only wore a thin pair of leggings. The tip of her nail stroked the soft opening of my lips. I could not stifle my moan. The commotion downstairs and thundering footsteps scarcely registered. I reached out to touch death. Her flesh was warm and sticky, like the lubrication causing my clit to hum. I felt a hard, rounded mound that I think was her belly. I pulled my hand away as I felt it pulsate. Hector was trying to unlock the door while also hitting it as hard as he could.

  “She needs to be fed, then she will be in this world again.”

  “Milagros? After all this time?”

  “Yes. I will show you. May I kiss you?” Without answering, I leaned into her voice. Wet lips pressed against mine. She took my breath away with her tongue and I took a memory from her mouth with mine.

  * * *

  Milagros knew she was dead. Her body felt like wet papel picado, half-dissolved and soft with parts missing. The voice in her ear as she slipped away provided some relief that she didn’t have to endure this degradation alone. Her pain was seen and heard. The promise of a half life was better than no life. What the voice wanted she did not know; however, the chance of vengeance honeyed the tears that wet her lips.

  When her body was untethered, the rest of her, the part not seen by the human eye, sat on a sturdy branch of the place she would be bound to. Weariness in soul and the lead in her bones needed rest. Her head and right arm leaned against the trunk as she scanned the dead farm. From this vantage point she could watch the family slowly sell their belongings. It wasn’t long before a body beneath a sheet was wheeled out of the home that would soon be abandoned. That was what she wanted. A radius of death, with her at the epicenter. Her tears might have been honey on her lips, but they were poison to this earth that had claimed her sweat for too long. There was concern for the workers who had to find employment elsewhere, but her people were strong. They would find a way with La Causa and warriors like Chavez to lead the way. If only she could have made it that far.

  Even when all the perpetrators were gone, Milagros decided to stay put. There was no space she felt she belonged to in the borderless place of the spirits. When her mortal life was extinguished, all of her rage and resentment formed a tight ball, then exploded into supernova light with all the power that a heavenly body possesses. This brought her self-awareness back. This gave her the ability to follow the voice as she took vengeance with the unseen force as her guide. Having a second chance to reclaim her dignity felt good.

  The last one was the sheriff.

  * * *

  It was during a hunting trip with his brother that she stalked the two in the trees, disorientating them with thrown stones and rustling leaves, making them think there was a big buck to be had. She led a beautiful creature to their sights, stroking its soft coat and majestic antlers, then she scared it away. Sheriff Don raised his rifle, licking his lips once, then stopped when a crack rang out, sending birds into flight. He looked down to see a hole through his flannel shirt. A black stain spread before his eyes. His own brother had shot him through the chest. He collapsed, hearing the distant shouts of his kin but unable to scream back.

  His brother ran to his side, but the last face and voice the sheriff experienced was Milagros, who sat on a tree branch above his head. She pulled a red handkerchief from over her nose, down to her neck, then opened her mouth to allow blood to fall in long strings over his face. Her eyes, black marbles, reflected his death to him. The terror on his face was delicious, satiating her in a way that could only be matched by knowing Tanya was still imprisoned alive. The idea of turning the other cheek filled Milagros with bitterness, because it was difficult to do such a thing underfoot or dead.

  With her vengeance complete, she didn’t know what to do with herself or what purpose she served by lingering on.

  People walked by, sensing her presence and sometimes seeing her. They looked directly at her, not knowing whether to continue to stare or run in terror. We are told ghosts don’t exist, that horror is fiction. She could tell they didn’t believe their eyes. Years passed without a feeding, the claiming of a life. No one wanted to live in the house or sett
le on the land. Good. Let it rot. The skin on her body slowly glued itself to the tree with the help of wasp nests and spiderwebs. All these creatures lived, gave birth, fed and died upon her body while she grew as wooden as the tree. Knowing life went on somewhere was reassuring. Milagros was sure her sister was no longer alive because she couldn’t sense her.

  Then one day the voice that once comforted her through her murder spoke again. The Queen sat next to Milagros. “My dear, your sadness has become an illness. How can you grow strong if you do not feed yourself?”

  Milagros could only shift her eyes; she didn’t want to disturb the creatures that had made a home on her body. “What else am I to do? I’ve been avenged.”

  The Queen stroked Milagros’s hair, securing it behind her ear. “There is so much more. So much wrong in this place. You have a throne in this world and the next. Time, energy and the cosmos pump through invisible strings. These can be manipulated with the right force.”

  Out from the crook of Milagros’s neck crawled the wasp queen, to pay her respects to another queen. Mictecacíhuatl took the wasp into her bloody hand. A smile crossed her wet, muscular face as the wasp queen scurried up her arm. “Your sister lives in between spaces. What if you could see her? Would that make you happy, give you the encouragement you need?”

  Milagros’s eyes glittered. “Is she okay? Can I see her? I thought she was dead.”

  “Come with me. It will hurt to move from this tree, but you must.” Mictecacíhuatl took Milagros by the hand, squeezing it hard to give her confidence. “Pull yourself, cihuatl. Your complacency will only be a second death. You have sat idle on that tree long enough. Come see your sister.”

  “My sister?” Milagros would do anything to see her sister, endure any pain.

  The place where the wasp’s nests attached flesh to bark cracked and ripped. Milagros gritted her teeth as her skin pulled from muscle. Part of her scalp detached, revealing white skull. She held on to the Queen’s hand to steady herself for the agony of detaching the rest of herself from the tree. It was time for her arms and hips. With a scream loud enough to scare the birds away, Milagros pulled the rest of her body from the tree.