“Mom, dad, I’m home!”
I made my way into their well-kept and spacious home and navigated my way into their all-purpose room formerly known as the den. They were both dressed and ready for the day, basking in the sun that shone through the bay window. I noticed a note that had been attached to the back of dads wheelchair written in Beth’s scratchy scribble “medicines all done tried breakfast they didn’t want any.”
Beth had been their nurse for the better part of five years and had little to no difficulties dealing with the day-to-day life of caring for them. I decided to go and try to make them something to see if their appetite had come back. As I walked into the kitchen I noticed something sitting on the window ledge outside. A cicada shell sat empty facing into the house and in a flash, I was transported back to my youth and the terror of what those things are capable of.
In the summer of 1986, my parents were the lead entomologists for the NISC (national invasive species council). They had been tasked with going to the Nantahala national forest at the southern edge of the Appalachian mountains to inspect the insect population. With it being summer break I was to accompany them and be their bag boy for the next month. With relative ease, dad had the camper loaded, a house sitter arranged, and the maps marked with the exact route we needed to go.
A mere 12 hours later we arrived in Nantahala and discussed with the local rangers where we could set up and the best locations to visit for mom and dad to complete their research. Once we got our camper into place I was left alone to explore while mom and dad set up their equipment and went over their maps. Nantahala was a beautiful mixture of old trees and winding creek beds the perfect breeding grounds for any number of pests. After I had explored to my heart’s content in the relatively small distance around our campsite the smell of food brought me back to camp.
As I sat down at our table a loud crunching sound made me shoot up, my mother dusted my backside off and showed me the remains of a cicada shell I had reduced to dust. “It’s okay honey this one’s long gone this is their mating time you won’t see these again for another 17 years.” Mom said dusting her hands off and going back to her food, I double-checked my seat and devoured my can of spaghetti. With no daylight left to us, we decided to call it a night and start at first light.
Most of our day was spent cataloging the typical species of grasshoppers, crickets, and mosquitoes. The rest of the day was spent hunting for the peskier insects the one’s mom and dad had been sent down here to find and determine how bad the issue was. Being from the city it never hit me that the loud noises we were hearing were out of place until I had stepped on my tenth cicada shell. “The only invasive species are these cicadas it’s almost like sitting at a demolition derby,” Dad grumbled as he released yet another grasshopper back to the forest floor.
After dad had made it clear what the noise was I couldn’t help but fixate on it. Every time I would get near a cicada shell I could feel the hum crescendo and then fade back as I got further away. I started counting just how many of the shells I saw on my walks with my parents.
“Dad how many cicadas usually come out during their mating time?”
“a typical brood can be up to 400 if they all make it, why do you ask?”
“I’ve counted almost 200 just today is that normal?”Dad shrugged me off and went back to his maps.
I dreamed of cicadas that night and woke up screaming about them, their hum was so loud when I awoke that I could feel my skin vibrating. The next day I was so tired and shaken I kept myself in the camper and I hummed to myself to try and block the sound out. I used the restroom off the steps for fear of crunching on any more left-behind shells. My parents were concerned for me and told me we could leave in the morning, they hadn’t found any invasive insects, and my health was a priority.
That night the humming was so intense I couldn’t sleep I could hear it circling the camper, pulsating every few seconds almost as if it was chanting. At midnight I saw a shadow pass by the window above the sink and wings brush against the glass. My curiosity overcame my fear and I grabbed the flashlight I kept under my pillow. The forest was bright with moonlight where it could split the tree canopy and utter blackness where the trees held dominion.
Every step I made into the woods was a crackle of a dead exoskeleton. The paths were lined with cicada shells and I could see their previous hosts flying in the beams of moonlight. It was mesmerizing watching them dart in and out of the moonlight losing sight of them in the dark only to reappear wings glistening a second later. I watched awestruck for what felt like hours watching as the cicadas danced back and forth through the trees. I could hear a humming noise softer than the cicada’s call and realized it was coming from my own throat.
I was humming along with the cicadas in rhythm with their dance swaying back and forth to their movements. A pair of eyes met mine from the shadows red as a fresh wound and a humming chorus joined my own. The eyes bobbed and swayed to match my rhythm and its humming intensified I wanted to see this creature I wanted to know what it was I needed to know it. I started stepping toward the eyes disregarding the crunch beneath my feet drawn into the humming that was matching my own.
“Aron!”
My dad tackled me from behind and threw me back to my mom. My mother pushed me defensively behind herself while my dad stood at his tallest and held up his arms to make himself look bigger. Our connection had been broken and my mind had gone hazy I couldn’t remember walking into the woods or why my parents were here or why the two red eyes in the tree line were looking at us with such malice. My dad yelled at the creature trying to scare it off and with that last act of defiance the hum of cicadas became too much and I hit the ground blood running from my ears.
I could no longer hear anything besides a tiny ringing sound in both ears but my eyes worked well. A humanoid shape made entirely of matured cicadas emerged from the woods where the eyes had been and bore down on my dad. My mother enveloped me in a protective embrace and darkness consumed me.
That was 17 years ago, with a cochlear implant I can now hear the world around me again. My parents on the other hand were left in a coma for several months and once they did awaken remained in a near vegetative state for the rest of the time. The NISC covered the medical bills and granted my parents early retirement so they would be taken care of. I attended many therapy sessions throughout the years and can sleep better at night.
I tore my eyes away from the shell lying on the window ledge and made my way back into the den. I popped the lid off the yogurt I had brought for my parents and saw my dad’s eye had a tear rolling down. I wiped it off and leaned into him I could see his eyes making small figure eights while he stared out of the window and could hear a faint humming coming from his chest. I looked over at mom and noticed her eyes making the same pattern.
Looking down at the window sill I noticed a line of cicadas swaying back and forth in time to mom and dad’s eye movements. I could hear inside my head the humming that was coming from the woods and I could feel the eyes on me even if I couldn’t see them. 17 years ago I watched the cicadas dance for the first time and as I felt my body begin to sway to their rhythm I knew tonight I would get to see an encore.