Building 26 “Fields of Yellow”

“I hear the insects in the tall grass, that heavy hum that sits in the front of your mind when you listen for it. It is the sort of droning that seems to purge you of all other thoughts, and leaves you sitting in a state of disconnect from the rest of the world.

I do not live by the tall grass anymore. I haven't lived by those places in years, and yet there are times where I will hear the sound all the same, when I will pick up on the steady rising and falling of insects on mass, declaring that they are seeking out a mate.

Moving away from the country was one of the hardest things I have ever done. There is a feeling that leaves you when you move away, a sort of calm that comes from that slow way that life that leaves you after you have been gone long enough. It isn't as if life in the boonies exists like that all the time, but it can feel like life moves at a breakneck speed when you live in the city.

And that is the thing about the city. It isn't as if there aren't any insects around here. Quite the opposite. But what insect sounds exist within the city are often drowned out by the rest of the noise that exists here. The chattering of cockroaches and earwigs is something you can scarcely hear unless you are really listening for it.

But the sound I hear in my head won't be drowned out.

It is the sounds the tall grass makes in the morning and at night, the noise a prairie makes as you move along familiar paths on those walks you look forward to all week. That is the sort of noise that lingers inside my mind and rises up in times of stress. My eye twitches when I get stressed, and it is often a precursor to the noise.

That awful sound.

I used to love that sound.

Now I have to take pills when it rises up, and I reach out to friends who at this point must be well past the point of exhausted with my calls and my crying. My shrink says I can't help it, that it is a response to what I have seen, and that with time and effort it will get better.

I don't think it will ever go away.

I can close my eyes even now, even after all the work I have done, and find myself smack dab right back where it started. Back when I lived in the country and the world felt a little less awful to me.

It was the day after the longest sustained rain in months. My sister had gone missing.

I had woken up early on account of needing to use the bathroom. On days like those, I was apt to go find my sister, and we would sneak downstairs and make everyone the most sugary, unhealthy breakfast we could manage. We weren't any good at it, and it would often be just pancakes with chocolate. It was special because it didn't happen all that often. But now it doesn't happen at all.

I went to her room, only to find her bed empty and the window open, a light breeze bringing in the smell of the fields through the window. I did a quick search of the house, looking to see where she could have ended up. I realize now I was ignoring the obvious.

She never left her window open no matter the time of year. She hated the idea of bugs getting into her room, and hers had the only window without a screen. Years before, her and I had broken the screen in a tussle, and the family never got around to fixing it...

Maybe if there had there been a screen...or maybe not.

Maybe it would have found another way.

I went outside and started calling out for her. I did a walk around the perimeter of the house, looking for anything in particular. On my second pass, I noticed that there was a depression at the bass of her window, a ragged line formed by the dragging of feet heading right into the tall grass.

As I made my way through the stalks, brambles and thorn bushes cut into my legs, sticking to my nightgown. The grass was still damp from the storm the night before, and as I searched the grass for any sign of her, my gown got more and more damp, mixing with the blood from the cuts and scrapes.

It took me five to ten minutes to follow the trail to its end.

There she was, in a semicircle of tamped down grass. Her eyes were glassy and her breathing was shallow. I ran up to her, the sounds of insects reaching my mind through all the panic that was growing inside of me. It seemed to rise and fall in patterns, waxing and waning in time with my breathing, then her breathing, then my breathing again.

I knelt down, and I was trying to help her up when I saw it peeking in from the grass.

It had eyes the color of my mothers toenails, its wrinkled skin scaled with hairs sticking out without any semblance of order or reason. As it sat there, it smiled at me, revealing rows upon rows of teeth, overlapping and interrupting one another, framed in opaque gums.

I would have guessed based on most of that that it was sick, some sort of diseased animal, but I could see in its eyes the color of my mothers...

It watched me as I helped my sister into a sitting position. As I moved her, a long, fingered claw parted the grass inch by inch, my breath catching in my throat as I tried to rouse her, to get her to respond to me. All the while I watched as it issued forth more and more, watching me as the din of the bugs rose higher and higher, waning and then rising again, until the rising and falling failed to register.

It was simply all noise.

My sister was saying something, but I couldn't hear her over the cacophony of bugs. I clasped my hands against my ears, desperately trying to drive the sound away, but I couldn't no matter how hard I tried.

I uncovered my ears, shrieking as pain rocketed through my head, the sound seeming to shake my body. I was trembling and crying as I grabbed my sister, though I could not hear my tears nor the sounds of my dragging her through the grass.

I looked up, and I could see it in the grove now, its eyes narrowing as its grin became a scowl. I screamed again, felt the scream in my throat as I desperately dragged my sister to her feet, stumbling and falling through the grass as I felt and witnessed the sound fading.

But as the sound went away, as my ears felt relief, I could make out the sound of it moving through the grass, of it closing in on us and watching us struggle. The grass swished and cracked as we ran and it stalked.

It was speaking now, calling out to us in a tongue I could not understand.

It was close. So agonizingly close.

My sister and I fell again, and I could see it. I could see the rock in the field. I grabbed it. It wouldn't move. It wouldn't budge. I could feel its clawed hand, damp from the grass, grab me about the neck. I pulled the rock free...and I couldn't lift it. My sister. She grabbed it too. We lifted it. Its hand tightened about my throat. Hairs like spears pierced my skin.

The rock fell hard on it. It was still moving. We lifted it. It was slick now with blood and morning dew.

Again. Again. Again.

It didn't look like itself anymore. It looked like a sickly creature, the smell of its rot rising up to us. It had been dead for a while, or maybe that didn't matter...

It didn't need to be alive to move.

When we were done, we dragged it back with us. We needed to make sure it was dead.

We made a fire. It did a good enough job. My dad tried to yell at us when he came out of the house.

I couldn't hear him. I still really can't hear much.

And I haven't been able to say a word since that day, no matter how much I try.”

We all get lonely from time to time. I called Danny and Betty the other day. They seem to be doing well all things considered. They plan on moving in together once things settle down a little. Seems that it has taken them very little time to figure out what they want.

This story makes me think about the deer in the woods, the one my uncle claimed he shot but that wasn't actually alive at all. It is funny how people make up similar stories, how experiences can track over time and develop in similar ways.

I have been leaving my window open at night. It is hell on my allergies, but there is nothing better than the smell of fallen leaves and cold air in the morning. As the season moves along, it will only get more pleasant, though I am soon going to need to take allergy medicine on the regular.

The first part of my costume arrived. It is a large black shawl that I had my aunt send me from out of state. It was my grandmother's back in the day. She had been a large woman and I think it will accommodate the hump I am fashioning. I am fillings a tote bag with sawdust. A pillow would be lighter, but the sawdust has the right feel to the touch.

My dad and I started putting up decorations today. He really seems to be himself again, and we switched out our usual cocktails for a glass of warm cider.

I got to dress up the museum for visitors. It was a nice way to connect with everyone. The new girl who isn't really all that new anymore, has been fitting in well.

Turns out she has the same birthday as you and me. Small world eh?

You don't talk much about your family. Do you have any traditions you follow? Any rituals?