CORPSE FLIES

CORPSE FLIES
by Preston Dennett

The sound of dishes banging in the kitchen ceased and seconds later Geena appeared, waving her hands frantically. Stanley looked up from the TV. “What is it, honey?”

“L-look!” She pointed to the dining room where a fly the size of a potato clung to the wall, fat body glistening, wings twitching.

Stanley’s eyes widened. He dashed into the kitchen and returned with a fly-swatter.

Geena snorted. “Are you planning on giving it a backrub? It’s a corpse fly. Oh, Stanley, you don’t suppose?”

“Don’t even,” Stanley said, throwing the swatter aside and petting her hand. “You’re fine, and so am I. And there’s just one of them.”

“I’m scared. Do something.”

The fly crawled around, creating uncomfortable circles on the wall. Stanley surveyed the room for a useful object. He eyed the ugly orange vase Geena’s mother had gifted them.

“No,” said Geena, jumping in front of the vase. “Really, Stanley?”

“Then what?”

“Use this.” She grabbed a picture of his mother.

“Really?”

“Just kill it. Quick!”

Stanley threw the picture and struck the fly squarely on the back. Its body burst, spurting a circle of blood against the wall, and it fell to the ground, buzzing grotesquely. Stanley ran over and stomped on it. Blood squirted from its body like a ketchup packet. The sound of squishing flesh turned his stomach.

Geena screamed, then peered at him through her fingers. “Is it dead?”

“I think so,” said Stanley, looking at its mangled body. Its legs still twitched slightly, but it was definitely dead.

“Oh, my God. A corpse fly! Stanley!”

“Quit fretting and help me clean this up.” He scooped up the foul-smelling, pulpy mass in a dish towel and tossed it in the trash.

Geena, her face twisted with disgust, crept reluctantly towards the blood stains with a dish cloth. “Where did it come from? Why us?” She was close to weeping.

“Stop it,” snapped Stanley. “We’re not going to die. It could be anybody. Aren’t you having your book club tomorrow? Maybe it’s Agnes. She’s been unwell.”

“Stanley!”

He shrugged and washed his hands in the sink. “Just saying.” Better one of them than us, he thought.

“Well, don’t.”

Stanley didn’t want to tell Geena, but he was as nervous as his wife. A damn corpse fly! And in their house! He liked it better before the vile creatures ever arrived, when death was a mystery. Now things were different. Now, he knew, somebody was going to die.

He looked around the living room. All windows and doors were closed. How had the fly gotten in? He inspected the kitchen and dining room, searching for any openings. Nothing. He crept down the hallway and peered in the bathroom. The porcelain and tile surfaces gleamed under the bright lights. Geena always kept the house sparkling clean.

The bedroom was also empty, all windows closed, nothing disturbed. He ran his hand over his balding head. The damn thing got in somehow.

He looked over at the door to the basement. It was cracked open. His heart thumped as he swung it open and flicked on the light switch.

Dozens of the lumpy black creatures covered the walls. Several more flies flew in ponderous parabolas across the dank room, searching for an exit. Stanley felt soft tendrils land on his shoulder, causing him to jump back and shout.

Geena appeared behind him, quickly withdrawing her hand and looking over his shoulder in horror. Stanley pushed her back into the hallway and slammed the door behind them. She clung to him, her eyes wide circles.

“I’m calling the exterminator,” Stanley said. And he went directly to the phone.

One long hour later, their doorbell rang, and Colin Travers of Expert Exterminators appeared. Stanley led him to the basement door. “They’re in there.”

Colin slipped inside, and reappeared seconds later. “They’re corpse flies all right.” He peered at them studiously, but had the good grace to say nothing. Still, Stanley couldn’t help but feel slightly insulted. Couldn’t the young man see that they were in perfect health?

“I’ll be right back with my equipment,” said Colin, stepping outside. A few minutes later, now with a protective suit, armed with a tank of poison and a heavy-duty plastic bag, Colin stood at the entrance to the basement. “Don’t worry. I’ve dealt with them many times. Should take me about an hour.” He flashed them a grin of confidence to hide his obvious sympathy, and shut the door behind him.

There were several loud thumps and then silence. Geena locked on Stanley’s gaze in shock. He flung open the door. The exterminator lay at the bottom of the stairs, his limbs twisted into several unnatural angles. His lifeless eyes stared upward as the flies descended, covering his body with a crawling blackness.

Stanley slammed the door shut, and leaned with his back against it. An awful relief swept over him. They were safe. The flies had found their victim.

Geena held her hand over her mouth. “Oh, Stanley.”

“Don’t worry, Geena,” he said, leading her to the living room. “We need to call the police. Everything’s going to be fine.”