“The Dead Cicadas”

 

By Charles C Cole

 

       Jason Barth and his girlfriend, Julia, stopped for a picnic near the top of a high hillside in a large wooded state park, the scene of natural beauty along with rumored folklore. Finally ready to grow up, he was going to surprise her and propose.

        But then two young opportunists they’d passed along their scenic drive took a deadly obsession with his restored 1962 Volvo P1800.

       The violence was so sudden, so overwhelming. Two young men with bright blonde hair so short it looked painted on, revolvers out. “Stay cool and nobody gets shot. We just need your keys, and we’ll be on our way.” Then one of them noticed Julia’s necklace. “Dude, you know who would like that? And she’d show her gratitude, I bet.”

        They shot her first, in the center of her chest, after she’d scratched one of them on the side of his face. She didn’t have time to offer them the necklace without the violence or to cry out.

       Jason, belatedly: “What have you done?!”

       “Join her if you want. Means nothing to me.”

       Living forever is only worth it if you can have your closest loved one with you. I’d rather be dead than alone. These were the last thoughts of Jason Barth after seeing Julia shot, before he was shot in the back of the head.

       One night, many years later, in a corner of a remote field, the same field, an unmarked cemetery for two, Jason Barth crawled up through the loose dirt. He wanted air, to see the sky, to hear nature, to feel a breeze, to see his long-dead sweetheart one more time. When he surfaced, he spat out a mouthful of moist soil.

       Julia Le Montagner stood in the light of a full moon, shaking out her long hair and brushing the dirt from her supernaturally white sundress: an image from the day they were murdered, an image without signs of mutilation or decomposition. His heart ached to see her, like it was only just now beating, stiffly, after a year of disuse – which was true.

       Jason stood. “You’re a vision.”

       Julia reached her right hand out to him, to connect as quickly as able. “Welcome back, my love. I guess we’ve slept another year.” He grasped her hand and squeezed.

       The witch of the valley, who once lived in a shack within hollering distance, had discovered their fresh corpses. She’d found the engagement ring in Jason’s pocket, put the story together, and was outraged, a sentimental old crone. So, through a rare act of selflessness, the witch gave the couple one evening a year to rekindle their feelings.

       Jason stood behind Julia and pulled her into his arms. “You smell alive.”

       “It’s all an illusion.”

       “Well, then a damned good one. I take back anything disparaging I’ve ever said about witches.”

       “You never said anything bad about anyone,” said Julia.

       “I thought it, that day. You know I did. I had such plans. What do you think happened to them?”

       “Hush now. And hold me closer.”

        Jason did as he was instructed. “The air is so fresh. If we had to pick a place to haunt…”

        A loon cried out from the lake at the bottom of the hill. “Do you think it’s the same one from last year?” asked Julia.

       “It’s the ghost of a lake and a ghost of a loon that reappear when we reappear.”

       “Jason, you’re my silly goose,” said Julia.

       “Because I’m romantic? Fine. I don’t mind being dead if I can see you once a year, hold you once a year. Even if I had breath in my lungs, without you, I’d be just as dead.”

        Julia smiled a sad smile. “I can almost feel the crispness in the air,” she said. “And here we are without jackets. We get to appreciate the great outdoors without worrying about rain or bugs or hunters. It’s like watching life through a one-size-fits-us special bubble.” She leaned against him.

        “Don’t let me let you go,” said Jason. “We only have an hour. That’s what she said.”

        “Then we’ll come back next year.” She took a deep breath. “What do you suppose we are doing when we’re not here?”

        “It doesn’t matter. Sleeping in a shallow grave, I suppose,” said Jason. “I don’t like crawling up through the dirt, even if it’s an illusion.”

        “Oh, Jason, do shut up and kiss me. Let me smell you and hold you, run my fingers through your hair. Sit down beside me and let me close my eyes, lean into your chest, and remember all of the love we once shared.”

        “Still share.”

         Jason accommodated Julia. She closed her eyes and listened to the faintest echo of a heartbeat. Another illusion? It was a reassuring sound.

        “She could have left us with the illusion of a blanket,” grumbled Jason.

        “Be kind. She didn’t have to do anything at all. She gave us magic.”

        “I wonder if it’ll fade with time,” he said. “Or when she dies.”

        “If it does,” said Julia, “we’ve still had something most people don’t get.”

        “A second chance?”

        “Love after death, and just as fresh.”

        “You’re right. It’s not Heaven with giggling cherubs and sweet-smelling rainbows, but it’s my kind of Heaven. I’ll take it.”

        They sat quietly for a time. “I feel a change coming,” said Jason.

        “Me, too.”

        “Always too soon,” he added.

        “See you in a year, my love.” And the two faded from sight. The hillside was quiet, except for the occasional sound of a distant loon.

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       Charlie C. Cole lives in the Maine woods and loves cats. He has been writing flash fiction for about eleven years. Black Petals has previously published some 31 of my pieces, the last in 2017.

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       Sophia Wiseman-Rose (aka Sr. Sophia Rose) is a Paramedic and an Anglican novice Franciscan nun, in the UK.  Both careers have given Sophia a great deal of exposure to the extremes in life and have provided great inspiration for her.  

        She has travelled to many countries, on medical missions and for modelling (many years ago), but has spent most of her life between the USA and the UK. She is currently residing in a rural Franciscan community and will soon be moving to London to be with a community there.  

        In addition, Sophia had a few poems and short stories in editions of Black Petals Horror/Science Fiction Magazine.

       The majority of her artwork can be found on her website.

  https://www.artstation.com/sophiaw-r6