Blue Cats and Fireflies

Blue Cats and Fireflies

by Illya Sean Antley

          For a few seconds, all Eddie Trowler could see was a thin line of yellowish orange in his vision. It was dawn somewhere, but where.  He had never felt so out of sorts in his entire life.  His body was not there at all, like he was having some sort of out of body experience, except for the feeling of grit on his back.  He did at least acknowledge he had a back, though it was all he could feel at the present time.  Asleep again.

          Time passed, not sure how much, he opened his eyes again to a blistering blast of sunlight directed with laser sharpness into his pupils.  This time around he was actually able to roll his head to the left to avert the blinding onslaught of summer’s favorite star.  It wasn’t long though, and he was out again.

          Finally, when good ol’ Ed woke this time, he knew something had happened to him and that something needed to happen now, or for sure he was a dead man.  One thing that was sure to help this time was that the bridge he found himself under was shading what sun was left from his pain filled eyes.  It, of course, was not just his eyes, or the grit on his back he could feel, but now he could feel it all.  The immense pain in his legs like two enormous hay hooks had been embedded in them, and then pulled out without any regard for the discomfort Eddie would feel later.  This injury was just almost more than he could take. Now if that wasn’t enough, he had this feeling as if two water balloons had been filled inside each of his ear canals. God, it was almost deafening when any movement near him would cause a vibration of any kind.  Ed decided to go for broke and try to sit up.  As he leaned to either side, he could feel the water balloons release their pressure as muddy, rusty river water poured rapidly from his head.  Rapidly the rapids ran.

          As he was able to sit up using his arms to brace himself, he noticed where he was.  It wasn’t as if he had wakened in a place he wasn’t familiar with at all, but he was at home.  The old carpenters bridge he crossed four to six times a day was almost directly above him. The other comfort was the familiar smells that everyone in the river bottom knew.  Most people including Eddie that occupied this area were born there and would die there knowing really only that smell that no other place on the planet would have.  The smell was of course wet, but had a damp laundry in the breeze tinge to it.  It was fresh some days, and well others, when the dam was churning the water, smelled as if every fish had died and gone to Heaven right in our own back yard. 

Eddie was quick to notice that one of the reasons his body felt so dead to him, was the fact that he was pruned beyond belief.  He must have been in the water longer than one of those poor, cement shoe-wearing boys from the city.  But now why would he be in the shape he was in?  Maybe if the rest of the river would let his brain be, he just might figure it out.  Until then, Eddie maybe shouldn’t have been looking to long at the other new changes in his body, especially his legs.

        The first simile was correct almost to the proper dimension.  Two large, swollen, volcanoesque holes in each leg.  It wasn’t lava or even straight blood coming out though; it was river water, some sand, and a few twigs of rock moss emptying out into the two-inch water around him.  Something had pierced into the good ol’ boy and back out again.  He turned his leg so that he could see inside each of the jaggedly torn entries.  He could see the muscles, and the spot where whatever had went in.  The holes where stretched and pulled as if he had been dragging some weights around for a month or two. It was still not as bad as some injuries he had heard the local boys talking about in the way of combine machinery injuries, or the local factory worker losing a hand or something.  Ed probably would not be dancing by Friday, but it would heal as all wounds eventually do, as long as he got some medical attention with some quickness. 

          Eddie sat looking up at the bridge trying to decide if he would be able to make it up the steep riverbank or not.  He could probably get a good shot at it going, but one fall and the pain may send him lights out again.  He noticed friends’ cars passing right over him and not seeing him at all.  He never tried to yell to them because they would have never heard him anyway.  So he came to the conclusion of waiting until he had the nerve to try it on his own.

         The sun was almost completely gone when his nerve came in.  Ed wasn’t sure if it was nerve or for some reason actually fear that made him stand and start crawling so fast.  Hell, Eddie wasn’t scared of things normally, so why the big friggin’ hurry to get a move on.  The agony of the climb, he could not feel.  The stiffness of his limbs, no matter.  The top of the riverbank was his only goal.  The urgency of making it to the top was all that mattered, and all that was going to be in his future for the time being.

         When Eddie reached the top, it was all he could do to catch a whimper of a breath before he fell.  He did not let the lack of air, or the tremendous anguish of his limbs stop him, he stood and waved his arms screaming a field mouse scream as he fell again to one knee.  The bending of his knee was so excruciating, but he just did not want to die like he thought he was going to die.  He had no idea why he felt this way, but somewhere in his subconscious, buried, was something Ed was in horrific fear of. 

         The lights of vehicle coming off of the bridge caught a glimpse of Eddie shivering and pale in the warm summer’s night.  It was a local man Eddie knew well.  Mr. Lanford was fresh out of smokes and headed to the store to pay the local ridiculous price for easing his addiction.  As he pulled over, his old GMC pick up gave a screechy groan. He could see that Eddie was in a terrible way.  He jumped out and helped Eddie slowly into the truck.  Trying as he might to get information from Eddie, it was not going to happen tonight.  He had fallen into a deep sleep, and Mr. Lanford rushed Ed to the nearest hospital forgetting all about his massive nicotine attack he was having not five minutes before.

         Eddie awoke in a small room two days later in much better shape than he had arrived in.  He was starving and could smell the local favorite of fried bacon and gravy entering his room.  He was in the hospital, he knew that much, but how he got there he did not know.  He was warm, clean, and bandaged from his knees to his nuts.  He felt no pain unlike the way he did when he had woken up on the riverbank.  Confused? Yes! Very confused!  But right now food was the way to go, and someone better get to steppin’ him a plate in here sharply.  The nurse entered the room asking Eddie if he felt like eating, all Eddie did was motion for her to set it down and get out of the way.  The aroma was there but the flavor lacked something to be desired.  Hospital food.  This was actually his first time in a hospital, so that laid that old notion to rest for him.  Still, he ate like there was no tomorrow, and even asked for seconds and thirds of the bland, three course meal. Hell, he even drank all his milk and orange juice like a good boy.

         A few days passed, and other than Eddie’s sore, newly stitched legs, he felt fine.  The doctor came by to visit with him a few times, and of course asked Mr. Ed Trowler what had happened to him.  He still didn’t know.  Doc informed him that he had to remove several large, but smooth anomalies from deep within his upper vastus lateralis.  As with many of us, Ed gave a big “Huh?”  “Well Mr. Trowler, they were big, smooth splinters buried deep inside the large muscles in the tops of your legs.” As the doc said this, he gave Ed’s legs a pat, which in return caused Ed to jump, even though it didn’t hurt a bit.  “Any idea how they got there Mr. Trowler?” Eddie’s face was blank as a chalkboard on Friday. “Not a clue Doc, not a clue.”  That was all that was said. 

         Eddie was released the next day with the help of a nice aluminum crutch.  He called a friend to pick him up, and after giving his friend the same answer he had given the doc about what had or hadn’t happened, was soon sitting in his recliner; listening to the local news, staring out the screen door at the rear of his house, with the same blank expression on his face.  This went on for a few days until Ed felt he could move around without the crutch.  He sat in the chair, blank and wondering, only getting up to eat or go relieve himself.

         On the fourth day of Eddie’s unwanted vacation, he had an unusual feeling.  He wasn’t sure what it was, or why he was having it. Fight or flight again? Maybe? Like on the riverbank. It didn’t really matter having such a feeling at home.  Where the hell was he going to run too, the damned riverbank again? Another thing about how he felt; fight was not in any shape or form of how he felt.  “Run!” “ Eddie!” was all that would enter his mind.  But a new, fearful, and distant memory entered his mind and added to that self commanding phrase; “Run Eddie!” “If you think you can get away from them!” 

He just sat there, too overwhelmed to move.

“Run from them!”

“The fireflies!”

“What?” 

          Ed’s mind began to crack a crooked a smile that went right to his face. He stood and moved towards the screen door.  It was coming back to him, but not like a memory of this as the place and time.  This was not where it happened.  It was a memory from Ed’s childhood, as he was growing up in the river bottom area.

It goes like this.



         When Eddie Trowler was a boy of about ten years old, he often stayed with his grandmother.  His parents worked a great deal because at that time, if you found a job, you better keep it, and if the boss asked you to stay late, you better do just that.  Well, this led Eddie to staying a great deal with his grandmother and other supposed working relatives’ children a great deal during the summer months.  On days when it was only Eddie and his grandmother, she would take him to the river and try to catch some honest to goodness river cat.  (Another of the local favorite foods, of course deep-fried to perfection.)  Before the sun even remotely looked as if it was going to set, Granny would have them gather their gear and head to the house.  Eddie always hated ending the fun and conversation with his grandmother, but he went along with the routine for years.

         When Eddie was eleven or so, he and Granny went fishing with a cousin of his at the same sweet spot they usually frequented.  Eddie’s cousin Drew was a wise ass as much as he was a liar, but he was one of the best ghost story relayers in the country.

He was two years older than Ed.  When he was around, he tormented Eddie by trying to scare the Jesus out of him constantly.  He too spent a lot of time at Eddie’s grandmother’s house because of the work situation. At night they were forced to sleep together on the back porch of Granny’s house.  During the summer it was very hot and humid in her house.  The back porch was screened in; visitors got the finest cool breeze of their life there.  It was also the sound of the breeze blowing through the cornstalks that Granny planted every year.  Not only did you get that soothing sound during the summer nights, but also you got to enjoy that sweet taste at several meals during the season.  And as if that wasn’t enough, Granny used the back porch as a storage area for the things she pressure canned during the year.  There were apricots, black berries, and peaches; almost anything that could be canned was on shelves back there.  While you were drifting off to sleep you could mentally taste some of the jams and things she may be opening for breakfast the next day, especially if it was to go on hot homemade biscuits. Yes, she was an old master at those things.

          On nights when Drew found a hint of fear seeping from your pores, he would unleash stories on your imagination that would have a young man up all night.  It could be anything from the missing hand looking for its owner, to the ghost of a mother looking for her children; just the general stories that scare most young people.  Of course if it was going to come a thunderstorm, he was at his worse.  He would inevitably find some way to get your ghost. 

          One particular day, it had rained almost the entire day.  The two boys were inside most of the day, and about to drive Granny completely into her grave.  There wasn’t much to do inside on those days except maybe draw or read Granny’s collection of fake leather covered books of the Wild West.  Around sunset, the rain had halted and the two were let loose to run in the yard and become blood donors for the mosquito attack forces that plagues the area so heavily.  When it was completely dark, Granny would call the boys to the porch, letting them know that if they left the porch coyotes would surely get them.  Funny how old people always had some story or threat like that that was used on them; when it was probably true, to use on the youngsters of her day.  Now, Drew found this extremely amusing, as Eddie did not. It was bad enough to deal with the onslaught of tales from Drew, but to have the person Eddie may have to run and sleep with giving the fire a stir was just the worst.  Drew could tell for sure now; Eddie was ripe for the picking.  Drew waited for something to happen.  He always knew when he could bring the devil out for a dance on his soul.  Without a hint of irony, fireflies emerged from the tall grasses, and that was all Drew had to see. 

          Drew began his story of horror by asking Eddie if he enjoyed walking in the woods on the way to the river the other day.  Innocently enough, Ed reminisced about how he loved going to the river, but he just hated having to leave so soon just because the sun was going down.  Drew was quick to inform Eddie that he felt the same way, but there was a reason.  “Even though Granny is very smart and I love her as much as you do, she still can make mistakes.” Drew said.  Adding in a whisper, “Especially at her age.”  “She knows why we need to leave though.” “Why?” Eddie replied.  “Well, we need to be able to see the right path when we are going through the pasture and woods when we are going home.” “It’s a matter of respect for the dead.” Drew let out. “The dead?” “Don’t start one of your bullshit stories on me tonight Drew!” Eddie said nervously.  “Yes, the dead!” “Ya see Ed, back in the days when this was all owned by the Indians, they buried their dead in nice groves of trees.” “They would dance and sing, and chant spells over this land. “These were their sacred burial grounds.”  “The white man would be cursed and hunted down by the Indians if he trespassed on this holy ground.” “If a white man did trespass on the grounds, the spirits rise and go looking for the ones who walked on their graves.” “Their eyes are all you can see Ed!” “They look like fireflies coming through the tall grass; they are on the hunt!”  Drew said with a horrible excitement.  “So what the hell does that have to do with fishin’?” asked Eddie.  A small wicked curl formed in the side of Drew’s face.  “Well, there are two paths to the sweet spot we go to.” “If we take the wrong one coming back, we’ll walk right through an Indian burial ground.” “That’s one big load a shit Drew, and you know it!”  Eddie replied half way to a coronary. “It’s not shit Eddie it’s a fact!” Drew was loving this by the second because this was, as he and Granny knew, all true to a certain extent.  Granny’s house was a rocks throw from an actual burial site.  It rests in a grove of trees going towards the river right by the path they take to the sweet spot.  Granny, knowing that Eddie would wet himself over this, and never go fishing again, never told him about it.  Drew was lit on how well the fear was settling in Eddie’s stomach.  Eddie was quick to yell for his grandmother, and she was quick to arrive, because God only knows what Drew has done to that boy now!  He questioned her about the story and the location of the holy ground, and she replied, “Ima’ gonna tan your ass Drew!” before answering Eddie.  She then let Eddie know that the part about the Indian burial ground’s location was true, but about the cursing of the white man and all was just some of Drew’s overactive imagination. Though she did not fully believe this herself.  You see, this was a legend that was passed to her as a child, and she had in some form passed this story to a relative one night when they were all in a storm cellar together.  (Tornado alley probably caused more old tales and ghost stories to be passed than any other place, especially when everyone is cramped together in an old dirt floor storm cellar in the ground; hell it even smelled like a grave.) She did in fact believe it. The old as well as the young seem to always want to one-up each other on scary stories when the mood, or an event such as a thunderstorm gives way to the tales.  Drew heard the story somehow, and now he was going to take full advantage of it.

          The conversation went from terrifying to interesting to Eddie for a short time.  She told a few stories about the Indians that eased Eddie’s mind, at least until Granny said it was time for the boys to go to bed.

They were all tucked in and Eddie was trying very hard to only remember the stories his grandmother had told him, but it wasn’t long, no not long at all until Drew decided to finish what he had began.

          Drew rolled over to give Eddie a good shot in the ribs to insure that he was awake and ready to listen. “Hey Eddie!” Drew hissed under the covers.  “I wanna finish what I was telling you before Granny came on the porch.” “I think I heard enough for one night outta you!” Eddie said trying to sound brave.  “No, I think ya really need to hear this as sorta a warning about what might happen to ya tonight!” Hook, line and sinker. Eddie was set on the reel, ready to have his jaw nearly ripped smooth from his gills just like a big river cat. 

“Eddie, roll over and look toward the corn field!” Drew slithered.

Eddie rolled over shaking like it was ten degrees below.  A light misty fog rolled along the ground from the heat of the ground colliding with the moister of the day.  The only illumination was a peak form the moon here and there. 

“Do you see them way out there Ed?”

“You and Granny walked through the Indian burial ground on accident the other day!” “Remember!” “The Indians would not come while it was raining, but now I think they are coming for both of you!”

          The fireflies were in huge numbers, flashing and lighting up the cornfield with small burst of energy from beneath their wings.  This green-yellow glow was something, until now, Eddie loved to watch as a boy, but now it had a whole different meaning to it.  Poor Eddie’s chest stopped moving as he watched them slowly glide toward the house from out of the field.  They moved up and down as if they were on legs sneaking through the tall rows of corn, heads low ready to take revenge on the trespassers of their lands.  His mind let him see dark outlines of bodies and heads looking and surveying for the right place to enter.  On the back porch, all they had to do was open the door, or cut the thin screen lining and it was over. 

“Oh my God! Eddie they are here for you!” “I’m getting in the house and locking the door!” “You did it, they can have you!” Drew shrieked!  He ran throwing the sheets over Ed to tie him up some.  The terror Ed felt was indescribable.  He moved very slowly as the fireflies rounded the side of the house.  He could still see the outlines his mind had put there.  He could also hear the cornstalks blowing as they passed through them. He had failed to notice however that he had completely wet himself from top to bottom.  He noticed that they kept on moving across the field into the next pasture; this was time for him to get in the house and hide forever.  He ran for the back door with the quickness of a fox.  He began screaming and pounding and kicking on the door until she came.  Granny grabbed and shook him, hushing him and comforting him until he was quiet.  When she asked what had happened he told her, and when she went to beat on Drew for his part in this, he was lying on the divan faking a night’s rest.   

          All Drew got was a good ass beating the next day, and he had to pick and peel all the onions for the week’s dinners.  Eddie did not go fishing again, at least not if they were going to walk by any distance near the tree groves.

This was the memory a grown, forty something, Eddie Trowler was reliving as he stared out his own back door.  He was shaking as he stood there, half heart warmed by the memory, and half in mortal fear.

          It all came back to him at that instant.  He had decided to go fishing the other morning.  His “sweet spot” he had used for years was not rendering the big catches it had for years lately.  It came to him that maybe the bigguns’ moved to another spot further down the river, and it was up to him to find the big meaty suckers before someone else did.  So like most fishermen around the area, you had to get an early start, a very early start if you wanted to search some of the area.  It was done all on foot.  There was no place to drive a truck, or even a four-wheeler down some of the banks, and through some of the woods you may have to pass around, over, and through.  He grabbed just the essentials; two poles, tackle box, and minnow bucket and loaded them in his truck.  He drove to the fence he usually went through to get to his old spot and parked.  He gathered his gear and started through his journey down the bank of the river.  Some of the places he came upon, he had never seen, he had to go back up the bank and through the old viney woods a piece until he could cross back down to the sandy banks again.  Not one trail did he see the entire time.  This was actually a good thing; no trail meant it could be a gold mine of fresh river cat.  He would stop occasionally and cast a few times to check the water for fish, and this gave him an opportunity to catch his breath as well.  After a few hours, he came upon a place he recognized a little.  The bank was changed drastically by the rushing waters, but the brush piles in the water and old trees were about the same.  He instantly recognized were he was.  No big surprise, but he was almost certain that fishing spot was much further down the river.  “What the hell.” he thought.  He would try his luck on his old, well not just his old favorite spot, but it was his grandmother’s favorite spot as well.  The day was absolutely spectacular. 

          It was only a few minutes before Ed started reeling in the first of his catch.  He caught a few three to four pounders, and a big six-pound cat.  These were all he was going to need, but he was having so much fun, he just fished and threw them back like the pros do on the Sunday fishing shows.  He was also reliving his memories as a boy there.  It was then that he noticed something that made him laugh out loud.  Back in the day, a lot of people that fished on the river did not have the money to keep buying the heavy lead weights it took to sink your bait.  It was nothing to loose a few of those to the brush piles in only a little while.  Many of the locals, including Eddie’s grandmother, used old spark plugs from any old junked engine they found.  Lying right next to Eddie’s leg were two plugs with fifty-pound test line tied around them.  Ah, that really brought it back. 

          Hours passed and the sun was starting to droop a little in the sky; Eddie decided it was time to go.  He gathered his gear and his stringer full of fish, dusted off some river sand, and started back the way he had come.  It did dawn on him that it was a hell of a long way he had come, mainly because he was on a search mission for a new spot to fish.  He wondered though if he traveled to were his grandmothers house used to be, if he could get a ride back to his truck.  He had a good idea of its location, though the house hadn’t stood in years.  All that led to her house was a sandy road, and of course the old path to the river, but it was only about a mile from the nearest house.  He knew the people there, and they would surely give him a ride back to his truck.  It was decided.

          He turned back and went straight east like he did when he was a boy.  Nothing had changed a bit from what he could tell.  He walked straight up the little hills and over a few more till he noticed something different.  A deep run-off creek from the pasture above, full of clear moving water coming down the hill had cut its way right through his old path.  The path, not the same path, surely not.  But, sure as hell it was.  The creek was about ten feet across and about three feet deep.  He knew he couldn’t cross it without getting soaked to the ass, or loosing half his gear, so he searched a little till he found himself a good place to cross.  Onward ol’ Ed went for roughly thirty minutes looking for another familiar site to guide him to the old barbwire fence they had to cross years before.  Nothing, not a damn thing accept for a small grove of trees.  “Was it?”  Eddie wondered.  It was and he knew it was.  Now, Eddie had of course remembered all the stories from his past, and that shit Drew would sling, but he also never actually got to see if there was actually anything in the grove.  “Bad idea Ed.” He thought.  “Don’t want to piss yourself, or have a big stroke out here, ain’t no body around to help ya.”  This thought did one good thing for Ed, he did realize he had to take a leak and dropped’em were he stood.  One thing that was troubling Ed, was the fact that he couldn’t remember if there were two groves, or one, or a thousand.  Before the old fearful thoughts had reemerged, he had already walked through several groves, but none of them had the look he remembered from when he was a boy.  Semi-tall trees, with heavy foliage at the tops; very shaded underneath even on the brightest of days. All of the trees were about six feet apart, and thin braches close to the leafy area that were touching each other as if they were linking arms. No, that one was definitely the one, the only one in his memory. That was all he remembered in a clear thought until he woke in the hospital.

Eddie staring out his back door noticed a line of fireflies in the distant.  It wasn’t dark enough yet to see them in all their brilliance, but they were starting to get geared up for a night’s flight. Eddie could hear the local forecaster in the distance calling for rain, but he sounded a million miles away with a cave echo in his head.  He glanced at the old television set once, and went right back to glaring at the tall grass line of his own row of short corn stalks, and the fiery eyes of dead leering at him.

          They in truth had come for Eddie that day as he wandered by the old tree grove.  Eddie was summoned to them though.  While he was confirming the truth to himself that this was the grove he remembered as a child, the spell had taken him over.  He could see the dim flashes of lightning from the fireflies. They called to him in ritual voices, and Eddie walked directly to them.  He could not see them; only feel their presence around him in a swirling air.  He could hear them telling stories of their past in their native tongue; he did not understand it, but he felt the passion of a tribe long gone. Eddie could see a fire but did not feel its warmth.  He knew somehow they were touching him, but he never felt a hand.  He understood the pain and the love they felt.  At some point in this mystical walk of Ed’s, he was chosen to be tested by the spirits, a soul test so to speak.  It would be painful true, but the reward for passing the test would be a gift from the people. The tortures they put him through testing his willingness to hold onto his mortal being, and not letting go of his soul, went on relentlessly for a time unknown.  He bore the wounds of spears and hooks on his legs from which his own weight was suspended from the trees of the grove until he would black out from pain and screaming.  He was hunted slowly through the woods of his own back yard still wrapped in a spell from the past.  More fear than any person should be given to bear was part of the test of not knowing if he would live or die as the ghost chased and tormented him.      The end of this long night was as accidental as it was meant to happen.  Eddie, while running from the unseen warriors, fell down the riverbank just a few feet from the old bridge.  They left him, left him for the wolves of the past to devour.  If he survived the night, he would receive a gift of knowledge.  Knowledge only one from the river bottom could hold and understand.  The knowing of why the legends of trespass were told, and why so many of the locals believed them.  The stories weren’t meant to cause a fear of the great tribes; only to respect their dead the way we respect our own.  The spirits fully intended Eddie Trowler to survive. In fact, there was nothing done to him that they didn’t do to themselves through rites of passage.  Eddie believed he had been chosen to receive this insight because they wanted him, one of the last they may talk to, to understand in only the way they could make someone not of their tribe and time understand. 

        It was completely dark.  Eddie noticed that the fireflies came to the edge of the cornrows and paused.  They seemed to rise in the air to the height of men standing in a row behind the last of the blades of tall grass.  He could see no outlines of gloomy figures he had imagined when he was younger, but he knew they were there.  He stepped out into the night and waved his hand to them in thanks for their gift.  For only a few seconds longer the fireflies stayed and slowly flew into the distance along with a mild breeze pushing them home.

THE END.