My friend Roland wasn’t himself after the break-up. He’d been with Helen for six years, and the two had intertwined their lives to the point where it was hard to understand where one began and the other ended. They’d been an inseparable duo, which was their greatest curse and blessing. Helen wanted to explore who she was, as an individual. Roland, on the other hand, was convinced that he was nothing without her. Less than a person. A walking black hole.
I tried to meet with him at least every other day, just to make sure he didn’t get stuck in a bad rut. Roland had a very reliant personality, in the sense that once he got used to something it was hard for him to let go of it. It made the separation so many times worse, but also opened him up to all kinds of nasty habits. We were all wary of his dependent personality, but there were only so many hours of the day we could check up on him. We all had our own lives to deal with, and Roland was for all intents and purposes an adult in his own right. Hell, he just turned 37.
As a birthday celebration for a common friend, we all went out for drinks. Roland tagged along. It even looked like he’d showered.
We had a big dinner together, shared a few laughs, and took some time to catch up. While most of us were caught up on Roland and his situation, some of us hadn’t met for months. It was a sort of mini-reunion, and even Roland fell to the side in the hustle and bustle. Not for long though.
Halfway through dinner, he tapped the side of his glass, and rose from his seat. He was gonna make a speech. The table went awfully quiet as he cleared his throat.
“I just wanted to say thank you,” said Roland. “Thanks for being here. For bringing me along. For being ready, day and night. If it hadn’t been for you all, I’d be empty. So… thank you.”
He raised his glass. While a small cheer rose from the crowd, I could see through it. This wasn’t a happy man showing appreciation for his friends; this was a cry for help. Even then, behind the smile of a raised glass, I could see it. He really was empty.
Still, I figured time would heal all wounds. Weeks passed into a solid month, with little improvement. Roland wasn’t getting out of his rut. He barely made it to work. He didn’t leave his apartment. He did little but to eat, sleep, and work; and he did all those things just sort of… wrong.
He’d started overeating, and only the most basic foodstuffs. He once spent an entire day just eating pickles. Sleep was so irregular that it was bordering on the psychotic. He’d go without sleep for over 50 hours and then turn around to crash for 14. Sometimes he’d just stay in bed all day, not even picking up his phone. And work? Well, despite working from home, Roland would still miss important deadlines. He was hanging on to his contract by a hair.
But what worried me most was his tendency to throw himself headfirst into whatever whim he imagined. He was just a few bad messages from getting scammed on a dating site, and he was reading pretty much every spam e-mail sent to him. He stopped to listen to every mad preacher on the street and could spend hours scrolling through the deepest and darkest recesses of social media.
I’d sometimes go online just to check his subscriptions, and there was always something new and worrying to see. Rants from various populist lifestyle gurus, conspiracy theories, absurd basement dweller-type documentaries; Roland just left it all running in the background. I tried asking him about it but he just said he liked the noise. Made him feel less empty.
That was really all there was to it; he was completely devoid of meaning. He needed something to fill his life with, and he was grasping at every straw he could find. And yet, no matter what, he ended up just as miserable as before. Maybe even more so. Like a vacuum sucking up whatever joy might cross its path.
It worried me. Especially when I saw that he was still scrolling through Helen’s socials. Every time he saw a picture of her he’d bounce wildly between happy to see that she was doing fine, to utter despair at losing her. There was nothing in-between.
Sadly, I couldn’t keep up with Roland. He spent every hour of the day in complete isolation, and I had all kinds of obligations to deal with. And, honestly, he was wearing us all out. It was getting tiresome for all our advice and well-wishes to constantly fall on deaf ears. Sure, we all tried, but after a while it was becoming apparent that Roland needed another kind of help – one he wasn’t willing to seek.
While he never disappeared from our collective thoughts, it got to a point where we just couldn’t do enough. Instead, we settled into this sort of ever-present low rumble of worry; ever-anxious, but unable to do anything. It was exhausting.
All the while, we had Helen on the other side. She was doing pretty well, all things considered. Sure, she was still a bit worried about Roland, but she was moving on. That’d been the whole point of the break-up to begin with.
But one morning, as I saw her put out an update about taking a date to a wedding, I knew Roland was about to go nuclear.
The man had seemingly fallen off the face of the earth. We were searching feverishly for him. He didn’t answer our calls, no one had seen him, and for all we knew he wasn’t even in town anymore. It was scary for all of us, not knowing how he’d react.
After many hours, we managed to get a hold of his family and borrow the backup key to his apartment. It was an emergency after all.
But it was nothing like we’d anticipated.
Long before the Helen’s recent dating story went live, Roland had already left. There were letters from several days prior left on the floor. His fridge was wide open, leaving the entire apartment smelling of mildew and rot. His computer was still running in the living room, among piles of unwashed clothes and takeout boxes. Whatever Roland had been up to, he’d been doing it for some time.
In the middle of the room was a recently opened cardboard box. It looked like it’d been hand-delivered, since there was no postage or sender. It was packed tight with both bubble wrap, packing tape, and glue. On the inside was a small plastic container, no bigger than a matchbox. It was damp from some kind of chemical. I took a closer look at it, noticing an overwhelming smell of something sugary sweet. We all suspected narcotics, but we’d never heard of any drug being delivered like that. Besides, that’s big a box for raw, liquid dosage. It didn’t make sense.
There was a small medical kit by the side of his desktop computer. Bandages, little scissors, a scalpel, a stitch kit, and plenty of disinfectant. Even at a glance, we could tell it’d been used. The drops of blood surrounding it didn’t lie.
We tried calling him again, only to hear a tune from his bedroom.
Roland had left his phone behind.
For the next few hours, all we did was make phone calls. Friends, family, law enforcement – anyone and anything that might’ve seen him. We checked in with his remote office, only to hear that he hadn’t been logged in for over a week. He’d left his car in the parking lot, so there was no vehicle to look for. He was somewhere out there, on foot, and we had no idea for how long.
We looked for him everywhere. We spread out around town and asked along the local shops. We put up a few posters, made a few posts on our socials, and asked around the neighborhood where he lived. Not only did we end up with a big fat nothing, but an uncomfortable question surfaced; we had no idea how far we were supposed to search. No one knew for sure how long he’d been missing. It could be days, or it could be hours. Even on foot, he could be in the next town over if he was quick about it.
As the phone calls faded, and the responses grew fewer and further between, people dropped out of the search – one by one. After about a week, even I did.
It became this strange thorn in our side. This constant talking point. There were no signs of Roland or anything relevant to his disappearance. Even weeks later, as we had to clear out his apartment, there was still no word of whatever happened to him. His phone and computer were useless – showing nothing but hours of thoughtless scrolling. No patterns, no plans, no hints.
The only thing I couldn’t quite figure out was that strange package he’d received. There was no date on it, so it could’ve been there for God knows how long. He must’ve ordered something special, possibly from some kind of courier service. It looked shady as all hell, but it turns out the strange substance was just a kind of sugar water and sunflower seed mix. Nothing out of the ordinary, albeit a strange place to store it. It had to mean something, but what?
As weeks turned to months, most of us had given up on ever hearing from Roland again. We all said our goodbyes, in our own way. There was even a ceremony, but I didn’t have the heart to attend. There was this sort of social pressure to make our peace with what’d happened, and to move on – one way or another. I was probably the last to go along with it, and even then, I had to do it my own way.
I took a long walk down to Frog Lake and sat at one of the iron benches. I put some of Roland’s songs on repeat, blasting through my headphones. He was always an old school kind of rocker, which his many Spotify playlists bore witness to. One of the many things the two of us had in common after over a decade of friendship.
As I sat there, watching the sun set and crowds thinning out, I brought out one of the few pictures I had of the two of us together. A picture from a past Halloween, where Roland was dressed up as Snoopy and I was Daffy Duck. Best picture I had of the two of us.
I must’ve sat there for over an hour, just talking out loud. Memories and dreams we’d shared. The little talks we’d had over a few too many glasses of wine at four in the morning. The trips we’d taken, the laughs and cries we’d encountered along the road. It was like he was really there.
I was halfway through a retelling of the time we almost got thrown out from a Hard Rock Café when a chill went up my spine. A heartbeat later, something touched me.
A cold, shivering hand.
It wrapped around the top of my head, clamping down, forcing me to look forward. I could feel the texture of wet skin against my scalp.
There was such a strength to it that I thought they were going to snap my spine. Instead, I heard a grunt, as a second hand grabbed the back of my neck. I could feel the wrinkles of wet fingers on my throat.
I froze. I didn’t move a muscle. I was at an immediate disadvantage – but they hadn’t hurt me yet. The best I could do, I figured, was to sit completely still and try to find out why I was still alive. Still, despite my efforts, I couldn’t stop my pulse from running completely haywire. I could feel it pushing against the cold, steel-like fingers.
For a few seconds, I just sat there, slowly feeling my headphones glide off my head. As they finally dropped to the ground, I could hear breathing behind me. Deep, labored breathing – edged with a strange rattling noise.
I didn’t dare to look back. Moving my head felt like a death sentence. I kept looking straight ahead.
Finally, there was another sound. A groan – again with that strange rattling noise. I heard movement as someone leaned in to whisper in my ear.
“Stop… looking.”
The two hands slowly released me. Someone hushed at me in the distance. I don’t know how long I sat there, just staring straight ahead. Long after those fingers left my head, I could still feel their texture. Their strength. And when I finally worked up the courage to force myself to look back – there was nothing there.
My legs could barely hold me as I walked back to. I forgot my headphones by the side of the road. I was shaking so bad that I forgot to breathe, making my head spin from a lack of oxygen. My neck was so stiff that I literally couldn’t turn my head enough to look behind me.
When I finally got to my car, I broke down. I bawled my eyes out, staining the steering wheel with anxious tears. My body was still running on adrenaline, making me hyper-focused on impressions that didn’t even matter. The smell of rubber from the dashboard, the dust particles dancing across the various lights and sensors. All the while, my mind was trying to catch up with me.
Of course it was him. Everything inside me screamed that this had to be Roland. That, somehow, he was still out there. Not even far from the neighborhood.
And yet again, I got the sense that there was more to it. Something had happened.
Something terrible.
As I lay awake that night, I considered what to do. The warning I’d gotten had been clear and unrestrained – to stop looking. I couldn’t misinterpret that if I tried. No, if I were to share this encounter, I had to do so willingly and honestly.
Then again, should I?
I twisted and turned, back and forth. It wasn’t until 6 am in the morning that I decided it was useless to keep trying. I got up, poured myself a cup of coffee, and started leaving messages. Warning or not, if this was really Roland, we had to at least try. He knew that. He knew we wouldn’t abandon him.
Then again, I could’ve been wrong. To be honest, it hadn’t really sounded like Roland’s voice.
And what was that rattling noise?
The next day, we got back to searching for Roland in full swing. I pointed out the location, using my dropped headphones as a marker and a sort of proof. Even though the police were unconvinced that it was Roland, they still considered it a case of assault. There were small bruises on my throat, after all – forcing me to wear a scarf.
We went through the forests around Frog Lake at least four times. We called out to him, we looked for tracks, and we tried our best to search for some kind of structure that could house him. He couldn’t have survived this long in the wild – there had to be something more to it. A forgotten house, or someone sheltering him.
And yet, after another two days of searching, and we’d found nothing.
It was late at night when we decided to call it off – again. There were six of us out looking in total, and there was nothing even remotely interesting nearby. We’d talked to all who lived in the area, we’d asked passers-by if they’d seen anything in the vicinity at night or otherwise. No trace, no hints, no distant sightings. I was beginning to doubt my own recollection of the event. What were we even looking for? A damp man with a strange rattling to his voice? It should’ve been easy.
I slumped down on a bench as the other five argued. Some said we ought to call it a day, others said we should pull an all-nighter and hope for the best. It was useless – we’d had the same discussion over and over and over. It was running circles around us, and the few of us who were starting to see it had already given up.
With my eyes firmly affixed to the gravel path we’d treaded up and down all day, I noticed a little black spot moving between the stones.
An ant.
It was late October – too cold for ants to scurry around. And yet, there it was, running straight towards me. As it reached my boot, it turned right back towards the lake. I got up, trying my best to keep my sleep-deprived eyes focused on the dark little silhouette.
I thought it would stop as it reached the lake; but it didn’t. Instead, the little legs struggled to break buoyancy, and sink beneath the surface. As it disappeared into the dark, my eyes lingered. There was more to this.
All along the edge of the lake, there were little insects. Not just ants, but blowflies, hornets, bees, bumblebees, and dragonflies. Spread out in a long line along the edge of the water, as if working up the confidence to dive in.
I looked up at the other five, trying to get their attention. Their argument seemed to grow louder. Finally, I just burst into a yell;
“Hey!” I shouted. “What about the lake?!”
There had been no reason to take a closer look at Frog Lake. It was an inland lake that had been undisturbed for years. Still, it was the one obvious point of interest we hadn’t looked closer at. Then again, how could we? We weren’t professional divers, and the only “evidence” we had was a strange occurrence of insects. It was at most a curiosity, and at worst nothing at all.
I couldn’t convince them to stay. Two left immediately, and a third left shortly thereafter; leaving only me and a guy named Aiden. We weren’t very good friends, but we had both been close to Roland, and neither of us were anywhere near giving up.
We brought out our flashlights and took one side of the lake each. We’d reconvene further down the path.
As we split up down our different paths, I followed the edge of the lake, illuminating the surprisingly clear water. I could see pretty far. Hell, from my vantage point I could see Aiden’s light on the far side of the lake still. It was just a distant dot, like a firefly, but it was clear as day.
Apart from the occasional insect plopping into the water, all I saw was debris and mud. Still, I had the feeling that there really was something there. Like I expected a pair of eyes to look back at me, only to pounce out of the water; wrapping up my neck with those shivering hands. The image was so vivid in my mind that I found myself unconsciously cold sweating.
I have no idea how long it took to follow that path. It all started to look the same after a while. After an untold amount of time wasted, I reached bend of the lake- bounding back towards the other side.
I couldn’t see Aiden’s flashlight anymore.
I’d almost gone an entire lap around the lake when I realized I should’ve seen him by now. Even if he was twice as slow as me, I should’ve run into him. I figured he might’ve turned around, or gone home, but then he should’ve said something.
I called out to him, over and over. Aiden, then Aiden again. Then – Roland. The name echoed across the lake. There was no response. My flashlight started to feel heavier and heavier. My knees locked in place. Should I stay still or run for my car?
I fumbled around in my pocket for my phone, swiping down the unlock pattern. I figured I’d be ready to dial emergency services, just in case. As the screen lit up with a click, I managed to press 9 on my number pad before a sudden buzz interrupted me.
A black wasp, the size of my little finger. The hum of its wings loud enough to be mistaken for a phone on vibrate.
It stung my hand.
It was so sudden that it took at least two seconds for the pain to register. When it did, it was like something had set my arm on fire. As my fingers cramped, my phone fell to the ground with nothing but a 9 to show. My yells were replaced with a horrifying scream; so loud that I, myself, could hear it – like I was experiencing myself in the third person.
I could hear the buzzing around me as the wasp took to the air. It circled around my head, coming in for a landing above my left ear. I brushed it off, only to realize that there were more of them. Many more.
But for the moment, they weren’t attacking – merely circling. Close, but not touching.
Not yet.
Ahead of me, someone stepped out of the lake.
At least I thought it was a someone. But the closer it got, the more I realized it was more of a something.
I couldn’t tell if it was Roland. I couldn’t tell what the hell it was supposed to be at all. The features were vaguely human, and yet, distant. Two arms, but covered in fly-like appendages sticking out of red and bruised orifices. A head, but no discernable eyes. Instead of hair, there was a thick swathe of beetles – climbing over one another. A wandering, horrifying ecosystem.
White, shivering hands, reaching for me. The fingers were the most recognizable human feature – the little crinkles of wet skin still there.
Everything inside told me to swat away every insect I saw. To take off my jacket and just wave it around, making a run for it. And yet, I couldn’t move. It was like standing in the eye of the storm; the smallest movement could put me back in the crosshairs. For now, nothing was touching me. Instead the swarm grew around me. Gauzy wings, sparkling diamonds, flashing before my eyes.
I couldn’t tell if it was him, but I knew. This was Roland.
I could see the cloud of insects part as a cold hand reached for me; visibly shivering. I was fighting myself; fight or flight. I took a step back, feeling something land on the back of my thigh. I anticipated a sting, but it never came. A warning.
As wrinkly fingers grazed my neck, I pushed air out of my lungs, letting my first and only thought escape.
“Please,” I said. “Please, Roland”.
There was hesitation. The hand stopped.
I searched for a pair of eyes, but couldn’t find them. I spoke directly to the broken remains, trying to imagine a real face looking back. A happy face. Roland’s face.
“What happened?” I asked. “What did you do?”
There was a crackle, as something loosened. There was a hole at the base of his throat, where a fat cockroach stretched its wings. With Roland’s every breath, the wings shook – giving his breathing a strange rattling noise. Every word he spoke was filtered through those wings.
“No… longer…”
He stepped ever closer – his hand inching towards the base of my neck.
“…empty.”
It was almost tender. An invitation rather than an attack. I lingered too long, considering his words.
But there was no way for me to look past this… morbid ex-person.
I let my grip tighten on my flashlight. As I felt his fingers tighten on my neck, I let my instincts take hold. I swung wide and hard, crushing the cockroach lodged in his throat.
The air exploded with noise as I burst into a sprint. I could feel them around my feet, in my boots, in my hair. I crushed them with my bare hands, separating abdomens from thoraxes with my fingertips. This ever-present sensation of unwanted movement on my body - but I kept going.
My leg went numb from another sting. My left shoulder too. Something landed on my cheek, and I smacked myself so hard I ended up bruised.
Far behind me, in the dark, I could hear something lumbering my way.
I got to my car, diving into the driver’s seat. Shivering and shaking from the pain, I slammed the door shut, crushing dozens of winged assailants. I flicked on the lights, illuminating in full what I’d been talking to.
It’s hard to describe it. Even though the only thing I could physically recognize were a few lingering tufts of brown hair, there was no doubt in my mind that it was Roland. What remained of him. Every single part of him rearranged and perverted. He wasn’t wearing any clothes – it was all a living hive. Thousands of different kinds of insects living inside a single boundary. An empty husk of a man.
We just stopped for a second, observing one another from afar. It was clutching its throat with one arm. Not to signal some kind of pain, but because it wanted to invite some of the many winged insects from its arm to take the place of the cockroach.
Then, I heard a buzz from the air conditioning.
I put the car in reverse without a second thought. I was about to just turn it around and go when I noticed the Roland-thing still lumbering towards me.
My mind gave way to my second impulse – fight.
I stepped on the gas.
It was so fast. Closing in like something falling from a great height. The moment it smacked against my windshield, it scattered to the wind; the illusion of a human form evaporated. It all clattered against the hood of my car – a hundred different kinds of insects, suddenly homeless and without direction. But there was no head, no arms, no torso. Nothing human remaining.
Whatever he’d been, or had become, scattered to the wind.
The following days, they dredged the lake – mostly to look for Aiden. It didn’t take long for them to find him. Turns out he’d died from an allergic reaction to an unusual stinging insect. They had to bring in some kind of specialist from the private sector to even begin to identify it. Turns out there was a cluster of them not far from the lake.
I didn’t have an allergic reaction, but the stings were bad enough as they were. They would cause my skin to burst and crackle, meaning I had to spend several hours of the day just cleaning with disinfectant and exchanging bandages.
I still have scars to this day.
The only time I see these insects ever mentioned, it is when involved with a human death. I’ve collected articles from New Hampshire, Minnesota, Michigan, and Nebraska so far. There have been a few hints in North Carolina and West Virginia as well, but I haven’t been able to confirm it.
I need people to know they exist. That there’s something more than just nasty stinging insects.
There is a malevolence.
Preying on vulnerable people.