My grandfather was a retired entomologist, so it makes sense that he would retain at least a passing interest in insects, but even after he cashed in his 401k and decided to live out the rest of his days on saved money, his love of bugs seemed only to increase. After my grandmother died, his passion for insects became nearly all-consuming.
As old age set in and he became unable to properly maintain his extensive collection of live specimens, he recruited my help to assist with their removal. My parents passed away a few years ago, so whenever my grandfather needed assistance he would often turn to me. The dozens of cockroaches, stickbugs, mantises, ant colonies, waterbugs, and crickets were all to be donated to various zoos and other institutions. As we had nearly finished packaging up the bugs into padded boxes labeled “LIVE INVERTEBRATE”, I noticed a section of his collection that was left untouched.
“Grandpa”, I asked, leaning in to get a closer look at the terrariums, “what about these?”
“No, I’ve decided to keep those Alexan- I mean, Anastasia”, he winced at the mistake. My grandfather has always been supportive of my transition, and managed to get my new name and pronouns correct long before my parents, but in his old age he had begun to slip up from time to time, his memory not being what it used to be.
“It’s fine grandpa”, I said, smiling at him, “go on with what you were saying.”
He looked grateful, and shuffled over to the cages, resting a hand upon one on the lids like he was patting a dog. “I’ve decided to keep these ones. These are all my beetles don’t you know. Not particularly difficult to maintain, and there are only a handful of them to worry about. They’ve always been my favorites after all.”
I nodded, taking a look inside one of them to see some half-inch long blue insects meandering about a miniature desert town. Though many hobbyists and fellow scientists would scoff, my grandfather always enjoyed making little bug-scale dioramas for his specimens. As a child, he got his start with his insect obsession by watching various B-grade horror films from the 1950s, and the concept of enormous insects held a bit of nostalgia for him. I watched, amused as one of the beetles knocked over a tiny plastic army man.
With some effort, my grandfather bent down to look at them next to me. “Asbolus verrucosus, better known as Blue Death-Feigning Beetles” he said, smiling as he gazed with contentedness upon his pets. “Very fascinating creatures.”
“Why are they called ‘death-feigning’ grandpa?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Opening up the lid, he reached inside, plucking up one of the beetles like it was a grape from a vine. The instant it lay in his hand, it fell on to its back, legs outstretched into the air. Chuckling slightly, my grandfather placed the beetle back into the enclosure, and within a few moments the insect righted itself, continuing to trundle aimlessly about the terrarium.
Amused, I remarked “Well that explains it! Perhaps they should have named it the possum beetle.”
He chuckled at my suggestion, staring wistfully off into space for a moment. “You know Anastasia, I think that if there is a God, He most certainly has more love for those beetles than for us.”
I didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so I simply cocked an eyebrow and said “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
My grandfather sighed slightly, scratching at his head in thought as he replied. “Well, think of it this way; out of all of the known animal species on Earth, beetles make up around twenty five percent of them. In terms of sheer quantity of individuals, beetles surely outnumber us at least a hundred thousand to one. And they are far, far older than we are, with some of the earliest fossils dating back almost 300 million years ago. What with global warming and microplastics poisoning everything, it wouldn’t surprise me if the beetles outlive us. Some species are even able to eat plastic, did you know that? Anyway, if there is a God, why would He spend so much more time and energy on beetles than humanity, if He is supposed to love us above all other animals?”
He smirked a little. “Can you imagine going up to the gates of Heaven, only to find the being standing guard at the pearly gates was simply a large darkling beetle with a halo and robe? That would certainly throw the Christians for a loop wouldn’t it!”
I couldn’t help but laugh at this little diatribe before getting back to work helping him pack up the few remaining bugs that were left to be donated. At the time I thought my grandfather’s brief theological tangent was just the idle wanderings of a tired mind, but given recent events I’m no longer so sure.
It was a couple weeks later when he next said something which, in retrospect, hinted at the strangeness to come. This time around there wasn’t any special reason for my visit, I simply enjoyed spending time with my grandfather. We watched an old film, I believe it was 1957’s The Deadly Mantis, and I cooked a dinner of shrimp fried rice for him.
After we had finished eating, my grandfather looked at me and said, “You know Anastasia, I must say your transformation has been most impressive. Less than a year and you hardly even resemble the person you once were. An almost complete metamorphosis. At times I envy your ability to completely reinvent yourself, to become someone new.”
At that I laughed slightly. “Is this your way of coming out to me grandpa?” I asked, smiling.
His face flushed, a flash of mild frustration and embarrassment crossing his face for a moment. “No, no that’s not what I meant at all. I didn’t mean- you don’t really think-”
I cut him off, still chuckling. “I’m just teasing grandpa, I know you’re not transgender. I am curious though, what is it you’d like to change about yourself? It’s never too late to change who you are.”
Standing up from his chair, he waddled over to the wall of beetles, pulling out a terrarium of what seemed to just be empty dirt. Digging through it for a moment, he pulled out an unusual object. It was brown, with a texture that looked almost like that of a tuberous plant. Two long protrusions extended out from one end of the vaguely potato-shaped object, and as I watched the other end wiggled spasmodically.
“This”, my grandfather said, proudly, “is the pupa of dynastes hercules, a kind of rhinoceros beetle. In a couple weeks it will emerge as a fully formed beetle, those structures you see on the end will be its horns. Yet less than a month ago, it was a fat, soft-bodied worm-like creature.” He reverently placed the bizarre pupa back into the dirt, and began covering it gently with soil.
“Very interesting grandpa but, er, what exactly does that have to do with how you’d like to change yourself?” I asked.
My grandfather looked at me, puzzled. “I don’t think I understand, what’s this about me wanting to change?”
I sighed a little before beginning to gather up the plates and utensils to put in the dishwasher. “It’s nothing grandpa, don’t worry about it.” He’d been doing this more and more often, just forgetting his train of thought entirely mid-conversation. I didn’t want to accept it, but it was rapidly becoming clear he was going senile. I made a mental note to look into good nursing homes in the area. As much as I loved my grandfather, I didn’t have the time or energy to take care of him full time if he eventually deteriorated to the point where he could no longer take care of himself.
As time wore on, the mental decay became more and more evident. He frequently used my deadname and old pronouns, and I didn’t have the heart to correct him. Once he didn’t even recognize me, asking where his grandson was. Still, even as he descended further into senility, he managed to remain somewhat active and did his best to remain intellectually stimulated.
During one of my later visits I walked in on him reading a copy of Kafka’s The Metamorphosis, a story which had always been a favorite of his for obvious reasons. I sat down in a cushy recliner across from him and read from a book of my own that I had brought, and we sat in comfortable silence for several minutes. After a while, however, my grandfather scoffed and set aside the book, face down.
“What is it grandpa?” I asked politely, setting down my own book.
“Oh it’s nothing Alexander,” he said. I winced, but he didn’t seem to notice, and just kept carrying on talking. “It’s just, this story seems a bit ridiculous now. Gregor should be happy for his transformation!”
“What do you mean?” I inquired gently.
“Well, think about it. He has to work as a traveling salesman, with a cruel boss, and all the while he needs to worry about caring for his family! But a beetle doesn’t need to worry about that, does it? No, all a beetle has to worry about is its next meal. It isn’t Gregor’s transformation that brings him pain, but his foolish desire to retain his humanity.” My grandfather seemed agitated slightly, perhaps a bit more than should be reasonable.
“I thought Gregor became a cockroach grandpa, not a beetle.” I said, gently.
At this my grandfather seemed to get more frustrated. “Bah, that’s just a misconception based on an idiotic mistranslation. Based on what is described, Gregor Samsa clearly becomes a beetle of some kind. Besides, it’s not as if cockroaches go through much of a metamorphosis at all, the transition from nymph to adult is fairly minor compared to the change beetles go through.”
After this outburst, he slumped back down slightly and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, they seemed slightly cloudy, not the piercing blue I was used to. “I’m sorry, I lost my train of thought, what were we talking about?” he said, confused.
I got up and gave him a gentle hug. “Nothing grandpa, just a silly old story. I’ll go and get you some tea.”
I remember the rest of that day fondly. After drinking our tea, we watched the movie Them! on his ancient VCR, and I ordered takeout Chinese food for dinner. Despite his outburst earlier, he seemed peaceful, tired, and content. After he went to bed, I cleaned up the dishes and took a look over at the terrarium marked dynastes hercules. Inside, I saw the once bare enclosure was now a reproduction of a tiny jungle, and waddling amongst the fake trees I saw a huge insect, as large as my hand. It had two long horns and a shiny amber colored abdomen. As I watched it crawled over a toy tank positioned between two miniature boulders. For some reason I couldn’t quite explain, I started to cry a little when I saw it, thinking about my grandfather’s long life and how much he cared for these strange, often hated animals. The enormous beetle didn’t notice, it just wiggled its antennae a little and continued to trundle along.
After pulling myself together somewhat, I got in my car and headed back home. That evening was the last time I ever saw my grandfather in a state in which I could still recognize him.
It was about a week later when I next visited my grandfather’s house. I had called him multiple times throughout the day, but he hadn’t picked up, so I was getting a bit worried. Upon arriving outside his house, I used the spare key he had given me and stepped inside, calling out for him. There was no response.
Fearing the worst, I began to search the house. Passing by the beetles, I noticed some of the cages seemed too dry, as if nobody had misted them down in days. I even noticed a couple dead ones. That scared me, because even on his worst days my grandfather made sure to take care of his precious pets. Something was horribly wrong.
Eventually I had combed the whole house and even checked the backyard, all except for the bedroom. I opened the door slowly, hoping for the best but expecting the worst.
What I saw made me vomit on the spot.
Wiping off my mouth with my sleeve, I looked again, praying that it was just a trick of the light, but there it was. A pile of dry, wrinkly skin, lying on the floor like old clothes. I could see my grandfather’s eyeless face peeking out from the folds. I couldn’t help it, I vomited a second time.
I was about to call the police when I saw movement on the bed, under the covers. Dear God, I thought to myself, is he still alive? Moving over to the bed, I pulled off the blankets gently and gasped.
Lying on the bed was a strange, half-formed shape. It was about 6 feet long and 2 feet wide, dark brown in color. As I watched, its back end wiggled spasmodically. It was an enormous pupa.
I staggered out of the room and fixed myself a drink. I’m not normally one for liquor but I needed it. I had no idea what to do. Should I call the cops? The FBI? Would they even show up? After downing several more gin and tonics than I should have, I began to formulate an idea.
Moving carefully, I took out all of the furniture in the bedroom except for the bed. I made sure to cover up the pupa again, which seemed to stop the worst of its thrashing. I couldn’t bring myself to touch my grandfather’s shed skin, so I just pushed it under the bed with a broom. It felt disrespectful, but with the gin in my system I knew that just touching it would be enough to make me retch again.
Using a hole saw I cut a small peephole in the door, taping a piece of cardboard over it that I could remove to get a look when needed. I took the bolt and chain off the front door and attached them to the bedroom door. Finally, I cut a small rectangular hole at the bottom of the door and blocked it on my side with an old heavy toolbox. That way I could move it out of the way when needed to provide food and water, if whatever emerged from pupation survived.
Two months passed. I moved into my grandfather’s house, maintaining his collection of beetles and everyday checking through the peephole to see if anything had happened. I lost contact with friends, and became something of a recluse. It was fortunate that I worked remotely, otherwise I’m certain I would have lost my job. I only ever left the house to pick up groceries.
One day I awoke to the sound of scratching at the bedroom door. Getting off of the sofa, I crept carefully over to the door. After the scratching stopped, I took off the cardboard that covered the peephole and looked through.
Clinging to the wall I saw an enormous beetle, at least six feet long. Long antennae gently probed its surroundings as its six powerful claws dug into the drywall. Its exoskeleton was still soft and pale, it was clear the thing had only recently emerged. As I pressed in to get a closer look, I stumbled, cursing softly. The beetle turned its head towards me and I screamed.
It was monstrous, a horrific parody of a human face, with vestigial teeth pointing out at odd angles and the faint outline of a skull visible in the exoskeleton’s form. The eyes were disturbingly human, and, like my grandfather’s, a distinctive piercing blue. The enormous, sharp mandibles destroyed any illusion of humanity however.
It charged towards the door at the sound of my scream, scuttling awkwardly. I guess it needed to figure out how to use six legs effectively. I ran into the living room and sobbed, praying that I would just wake up from this nightmare as I heard the insectile form of what was once my grandfather slam repeatedly against the door.
After about fifteen minutes the pounding stopped, and I managed to calm down a bit. I waited a few hours before checking in on it again. The exoskeleton had hardened, turning a shiny black, and I could hear a clicking sound as it moved about the room, observing its surroundings. I took note of the thing’s appearance, and hurried to my grandfather’s bookshelf to search through his various insect identification guides.
After several minutes of looking, I thought I got a rough idea of what my grandfather had become. While I could not determine the exact species, and I doubt if it even really mattered under the circumstances, it seemed to be some sort of carabid beetle, better known as ground beetles. Most species are carnivorous, so I figured giving it some raw meat would be the best way to satiate its appetite. I grabbed some pork from the freezer and, moving aside the toolbox that covered the feeding hole, pushed it in on a plate using a broom.
Quickly the beast moved in, hungrily devouring the entire platter of meat. I was able to get a closer look at its rending jaws up close, and it filled me with dread.
That was a few hours ago. The beetle, the thing that was once my grandfather, is quiet now. I don’t know if it sleeps or not, but I hope so. I don’t know what to do. I can’t just kill it, not unless I know for certain that there isn’t still a part of my grandfather in there. But at the same time I dare not release it into the wild. For one thing I have no idea how I’d transport it, and for another I don’t relish the thought of a six foot long carnivorous beetle being let loose upon the world.
I have no idea what I’m going to do next, and I miss my grandfather now more than ever.