Week 8 - “Insecticide”
It started with one. Inert on its back, ribbed belly and spindly limbs splayed, Emily found the cockroach waiting for her by the front door. She nearly shrieked at the foul thing’s unwelcome arrival (and departure). She left her keys in the door, stepped around it carefully, and returned with a broom and dust pan. She unceremoniously swept the dead thing away and dumped it into the garbage bin outside the apartment complex.
Emily wasn’t necessarily an insectophobe, but that night she found herself uneasily imagining the bug entering her apartment. How it must have snuck through her pipes and walls, skittered over her possessions, only to upturn itself by her front door. Like one of her calico, Flan’s, many ‘presents’. She triple-checked the front hallway before settling in bed, dreaming of its wispy antennae tickling her face.
She awoke to Flan butting her head against her chin, incessant for her 5 AM breakfast. Groggily, she followed the cat into the kitchen, stooping to figure out why the automatic feeder hadn’t gone off. It if weren’t for the dim light, she might have missed them completely.
Now there were two lifeless roaches, joined at the thorax, lying on her hardwood floor. She jolted back and scooped up Flan before the calico could meander over curiously and bat at them with a paw. Despite the cat’s protests, she deposited her into the bedroom.
Now Emily was truly on a mission. She took the insects far from the apartment, went about making sure she hadn’t accidentally left out some food, and closed any trash cans. Where the hell could they be coming from? She had remembered something once about apartment complexes being a host for all sorts of bugs. Shared plumbing systems and dumpsters. A fluke, maybe. She’d keep an eye on it.
Except they wouldn’t stop coming. Three, four, at a time now. She took what she had from her savings and called an exterminator. $350 to be told that it was likely coming from her upstairs neighbor. Brilliant.
Emily lost more and more sleep. She sat tucked up in her queen mattress, petting Flan rotely, eying the bedroom entryway. They hadn’t invaded there yet, but she was certain they would. She thought of a cascade of dark brown grooved bodies, thin barbed legs, scattering across the floor, writhing over each other. Toppling everything en masse, indestructible in their numbers.
When she found one alive, Emily swore she wouldn’t renew her lease. In fact, she mentally drafted the email she’d send to her landlord later that day. Being a ten minute walk to BART wasn’t worth her peace of mind.
Arming herself with the Raid, she followed a few steps behind it. The thing darted past her hallway towards the utilities closet. It squeezed itself in the gap under the door. Emily steeled a hand on the doorknob and carefully opened it.
There was darkness. And then, subject to the light, hundreds of dark-shelled bodies shimmered, like sunlight refracting off ceramic tiles. Masses of congealed cockroaches clambered over one another, seeking out the cracks of the closet walls. Emily couldn’t even scream. She slammed the door before they could escape towards her.
Oddly enough, there was an ad in the paper not long after:
Apt available for tenancy
Studio loft, 1 BR
Close to BART
No pets
