Nobody Asked Me

Three bees flew out of my mouth as I hit the ground. For a moment I wondered where they’d come from, until my left elbow, hip, and shoulder reminded me the fall was long and the landing painful. I closed my eyes and rolled flat onto my back, taking stock. Sharp aches promised bruises. A tightness down my left side.

The bees were gone, having flown out the door almost immediately. I pulled myself up and hobbled down the hall toward the open door.

“Oh. Still here?”

A lone bee crawled on the doorknob. It paused. Lifted into the air. Its hum grew louder as it circled my head once before flying out. I followed down the porch steps and into the rutted, overgrown driveway. The bramble along the drive was alive with bees, their presence thick all the way to the locked gate where I’d left my car.

The buzzing seemed to come from my pocket. I eased my hand in. No bees. I pulled out my phone anyway. No service. One notification: Call me.

That would have to wait.

“…Move it.”

“Who’s there? Is my car in your way?”

“That’s not how you’re meant to do it.”

The voice came from behind me, to my right. I stepped closer, trying to see who was there. The buzzing intensified. The bees gathered between me and the bramble.

“I’m doing the best I can,” I said. “I fell. It hurts, but I’m moving. I have other things to do today.”

Only the bees responded. I waited another beat, then turned and continued toward the gate.

Something moved at the edge of my vision. I turned. Only bramble and bees.

“You there?”

No answer. Just the buzz. Patient.

I laughed, short. “I’m not trying to get out of anything,” I said. “If that’s what this is about. You do the thing and then you leave.”

The words felt wrong as soon as they were out.

“Look,” I said. “I can fix it. Just tell me what I missed.”

The bees held their ground. The buzzing changed. Not louder. It evened out.

“That’s not fixing it,” the voice said. “That’s finishing it.”

My mouth felt dry.

“I’m not trying to finish anything,” I said. “I’m just trying to leave.”

The pause stretched. The bees drifted closer, tightening the space between me and the hedgerow.

“That’s what I mean.”

I laughed again. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Another pause.

“You already said it,” the voice said. “You just didn’t say it to us.”

I opened my mouth and closed it. The bees filled the space, their hum settling into my chest.

“I didn’t know I needed to.”

The buzzing softened. Something at the gate shifted. Not the lock. Just something in the metal, listening.

I looked back up the driveway, toward the house. The open door swung slightly.

“I can still—”

The bees parted, framing a path back to the porch. The buzzing waited.

I turned back toward the house and made my way up the porch steps. I sat and checked my phone. Three bars. A bee landed on my thumb.

“Alright,” I said. “I’m making the call. You should hear this too, I guess.”

The buzz lifted. The call went to voicemail.

“Hey. It’s me. I know I said I wasn’t interested, but I’m at the old Taylor house. I didn’t find anything. Maybe something found me. Something happened here. Let the family know.”

The bees drifted off as I spoke.