This week’s flash fiction is dedicated to everyone who has fought the good fight against invading critters in their homes. May you find peace in your wars…
Ant Invasion
By Jill N Davies
Brad had a thing about bugs—he just didn’t like them. Their spindly legs and shiny bodies… And they had too many accessories! Abdomens, antennae, thorax… wings…. He didn’t even know which ones had which parts—that would require him to spend far too long studying their disgusting, weird bodies.
So it was a particularly bad day when he came home to discover the thin, wandering line of ants marching across his kitchen counter.
He hadn’t even loosened his tie yet. His briefcase didn’t make it to the preferred corner. His shoes weren’t tucked into the rack. All those important things were lost to one, terrible detail—the ants.
He traced their path from the pile of jammy crumbs to the dark little hole next to the sink window.
This would not do. He grabbed the container of bleach wipes he kept handy.
“Not today you little monsters,” he said under his breath as he brought death upon them in the form of an astringent cloth.
He traced their path, starting at the window and ending at the crumbs. Folding the wipe he passed by again, leaving a moist trail to mark his victory.
He folded the wipe over once more, sealing the critters into their disinfectant crypt before tossing them into the trash. Then, to be certain the job was done, he swept the counter again with a fresh wipe.
The whole ordeal wasn’t through until he’d patched the hole with caulk and the flat edge of the trowel he kept for these sorts of jobs. Only then could he enjoy the remainder of his evening—mired though it was with the disorganization of coming home to a shock, and the subsequent ruin to his well-kept schedule.
The next day, before leaving for work, Brad made certain his counters were spotless. Not a hint of the oatmeal with brown sugar and raisins he’d enjoyed before gathering his things and heading for the train.
If fact, he was so confident he’d squashed the problem that he managed to merrily hum as he made his way up the stairs that evening. The briefcase made it to the corner. Shoes tidied in their place.
They surprised him. The same thin line from the same hole that shouldn’t have been there, only, this time they crossed the counter and traveled down the cabinets into the third drawer from the sink.
He watched them with morbid fascination.
Quietly, not wanting to disturb them before the big event, he eased the drawer open to discover a crumbled lump of brown sugar.
Each ant took its load, carrying it dutifully to the troop’s access point. He studied them as though he couldn’t believe it was happening.
When the lead ant had made its way halfway across the counter, he came out of the trance and dispatched them as he’d done the previous night, this time running a third bleach wipe across his counters. After dinner he cleaned out every single drawer and cabinet in the kitchen. It was arduous work—exactly the sort that Brad enjoyed.
When all was clean, he brought out the caulk and trowel, this time for a far more meticulous job.
Breakfast on the third day was consumed out of the home—a sweet Danish from a pastry shop on the way to the train. A pleasant treat for all the right reasons. After all, why should he sully his pristine kitchen for anything less?
Returning home contained none of the creeping apprehension that it should have.
On the third day the line traveled from the hole, across the counter and down to the floor. The troop made their way to a sticky spot on the floor that Brad couldn’t explain.
Five bleach wipes later there wasn’t an ant in sight. By the end of the night there likewise wasn’t a trace of food. Every spill, splotch and splatter was addressed.
Day four they were in his cabinets. No Tupperware could stop them.
On day five they found his refrigerator.
On day seven Brad called the landlord and ordered an exterminator, who was very polite and prompt. When that failed, he removed every food-related item from his flat.
On day fourteen he replaced the window that kept manifesting the little black hole.
From there things deteriorated quickly for Brad.
On day thirty-six it was no longer one thin line. The black hole persisted, but they came from the window itself, up through the dishwasher and sink and from the cracks by the door. And Brad fought them with everything he had. He bought every bleach wipe in a five-block radius, then he purchased more online.
He swept the house clean nightly, and when that didn’t work, he quit leaving. He fought them off at their onset.
He didn’t sleep.
He didn’t eat.
He only battled the devils hellbent on invading his home.
But the ants fought back just as hard, and he found it difficult to maintain his focus. Their movement affected him. If he looked too long, he would fall into a trancelike state.
Their power was in their numbers. The collective movement of thousands of tiny parts moving through his home. Searching for… something.
On day sixty-two his sister called, worried because he hadn’t been reporting to work. What he said to her sent a sick chill through her core.
“They have me now Gloria. The little devils have won. You see, it wasn’t my home they were after. This whole time they’ve been waiting for me. To give myself to them.”
Brad was found on the meticulously cleaned kitchen floor, his mouth agape and eyes starting without seeing. He was rushed to hospital, but when no malady could be identified, he was institutionalized.
He remains there today. Gloria sees him as often as she can, but with three school age children, it’s difficult to make time. His loft was fumigated before another tenant took up residence, but to this day, not one ant has been found.
The End
Come back next week for another installment of Flash Friday!
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